by Casey Lane
Rod guided Gary into the back seat and I pulled away cautiously, not taking a deep breath until we were well away from Cobblestone Lake.
Gary recognized Rod when he removed his hat, but evinced no surprise at finding Minnesota’s new quarterback picking him up in the middle of the night. He seemed grateful to be engaged in small talk about football. Gary’s speech was artificial and fast, he was obviously experiencing shock. I remembered feeling that way right after Law died. His massive heart attack had been so sudden and final, whenever I was forced by politeness to talk to people it was actually a blessed relief to think beyond the torment inside me for those few seconds.
In the front seat, Uncle Coop’s voice was pitched low for only me to hear. “I saw back there that Gary Knutson is a physician, a neurosurgeon to be exact.” His black eyes gleamed, but it was most likely a reflection from a passing streetlight.
“Mmm, did you?”
“You didn’t know?” Coop asked.
“Oh, I think he mentioned being a doctor earlier this evening, but not a neurosurgeon.”
“And now the doc is on his way to the farm.” I kept my eyes on the road while conscious of being studied closely by my uncle for a few moments longer. “I may owe you an apology, Niece. Rod may be the one who needs protecting.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Coop made a sound of approval deep in his throat, or maybe he was just gargling up some phlegm to spit. Either way, I didn’t allow the small smile to form on my lips until he’d turned away to look out his window.
Chapter Eleven
“We gain strength, and courage, and confidence by each experience in which we really stop to look fear in the face…we must do that which we think we cannot.” -Eleanor Roosevelt
Driving back east towards our exit at Hwy 52, I was cycling up and down the radio stations in the truck for the latest news. We passed a minivan weighed down with a mountain of luggage on the top racks.
Uncle Coop observed, “Interesting, isn’t it? The survival of the fittest often comes down to those first willing to listen and react to their instincts. Many people will die over the next few days because they ignored their instincts.”
“How very Darwinian, my dear uncle.”
“Instincts are everything,” Rod agreed behind me. “The more you listen, the sharper they get.”
“Wow, and we also have his junior disciple with us tonight.”
“Not as sharp as Mary-Acadia’s mouth,” Rod went on conversationally to the men in the truck, “but close.”
“There’s not too much in this world that’s sharper than my niece’s smart mouth,” Coop conceded amiably.
Smiling, I murmured, “Ah, thanks guys. I wish I could take all the credit, but you make it so easy.”
There weren’t many reports on the radio this time of night, but they all were of the same disquieting theme—spurts of violence erupting in spots across the Twin Cities. The attacks at the Radisson Blu Hotel, the mall, and the airport were now being generally referred to as an ‘unknown virus with an unfortunate side effect of turning people extremely violent’.”
A chirpy voice on the radio urged people not to worry, but lock up and stay safe at home, and stay tuned to their broadcast for developing news.
“A virus, huh.” I said, “We must have missed an official statement over the last couple of hours.”
“They’ve received plenty of accurate reports by now,” Rod replied, “so it sounds like our government is hard at work trying to downplay the situation to avoid a panic.”
“My God, why can’t the truth ever be told to the general population up front? The panic will happen anyway, so why not spell it out to people?”
Gary had been quiet for a while, but at my question he responded in his dull voice, “The government always takes the stance they can contain a problem until they don’t.”
Coop put in, “They also know people will go crazy with fear. They’ll start looting and fighting, so they want to avoid that at all costs.”
I blew out a breath. “I guess, but how frustrating. Shouldn’t we be doing something more to warn people about the crazies? I feel like we’re swimming through mud.”
“We’re going to keep doing what we can to warn people while we protect ourselves,” Rod answered consolingly.
It reminded me of my own tone with Gary recently and I shot him a sharp look in the rear view mirror. I got a flash of white teeth in return.
We also learned that the Mall of America was sealed off from the public, and so were the blocks of hotels and restaurants across the street. People hurt in the attacks in the containment areas were still being found and evacuated to hospitals. Terminal 2 at the Hubert H. Humphrey airport was reported as closed with no further information.
The chirpy voice went on to say that flights at the Charles Lindberg International Airport, however, were running on schedule for the upcoming day, but customers were advised to call and verify flights with their airlines.
I smacked the steering wheel lightly. “Yeah, and along with your carry-on, wear full body armor and a hockey helmet. If the airport is not being shut down today, that could be good news for us. Maybe our online orders do have a chance of getting delivered later today or tomorrow.” I shook my head in disgust. “Of course, the bad news is the airlines could be delivering this virus with the unfortunate side effect of people going cannibal on your ass all across the world. My God!”
Rod asked quietly, “Gary, please accept my apologies, but can we talk about Karen for a minute here?”
Gary’s voice was rough, but he answered, “Yes, go ahead. I know we need to talk about what’s happening.”
I had to strain to hear Rod’s low-voiced response. “Thanks, man. I can’t imagine how tough this is for you, but hang in there. Don’t hesitate to say something if it gets to be too much, okay?”
Gary must have agreed because Rod’s voice returned to normal when he continued speaking to us all.
“By what you and Acadia have told us, it took Karen about five hours from the time of her attack at the mall until she changed into a crazy. Karen had immediately felt symptoms of being infected from the scratches, right?”
“Yes,” Gary cleared his throat loudly. “Within twenty minutes she complained of a bad headache and wanted to go home.”
Quietly relieved, Rod and I agreed we felt fine. We hoped this meant the five of us only splattered with blood tonight at the bar were in the clear and not infected. Gary cautiously agreed with us, but said we didn’t know enough about this virus. He thought blood tests would prove if an asymptomatic person carried the infection or not.
I still felt a weight lift off my shoulders. It was instantly replaced with the knowledge that hundreds of wounded people in hospitals or their homes were going to be turning any minute, or had already turned. Within a few hours, my worst fears were going to be confirmed on the news--assuming the news was still broadcasting.
Uncle Coop warned, “Slow down, Acadia, the last thing we need is to be pulled over.”
“Right. Sorry.” In my anxiety, I had floored it. We had accomplished a lot tonight, but daylight couldn’t come soon enough. The next couple of days were crucial to our future on King Farm and our group’s chances to stay alive over the next weeks. I would probably never be worry-free again, but I definitely wouldn’t rest easy until the work was done outside on the first phase of the farm’s security defenses.
Coop asked, “What about Karen getting out of the closet the way she did?”
Gary hurriedly said, “We had a large hole in the drywall inside the closet that I forgotten about from when we moved into the house.”
I was happy to hear that explanation. “I wonder why we haven’t heard anything reported about dead people coming back to life?” Gripping the steering wheel hard, my left leg was also bouncing a mile a minute in my agitation. “I can’t believe the media would keep a zombie uprising under wraps.”
“I’ve been
thinking about that.” Rod sat forward until he was right up behind me, a forearm draping across my headrest and his hand resting near my shoulder. “You said you ran out of the bar when they were still clenching and moving on the floor?”
I nodded, trying not to react as the shivers raced along my nerve endings from his warm breath near my ear. Being involuntarily tingled while also experiencing terror we were going to be overrun by zombies was not a comfortable feeling. A second later, I shivered again and swore Rod’s lips brushed my neck.
It must have been his hair tickling me because he went right on talking. “I’d guess the media isn’t keeping the zombie uprising under wraps; it’s the police keeping the media out of the loop.”
I shrugged off Rod’s hand when he began to lightly caress the bare skin of my neck, now convinced I had felt his tongue licking me.
The truck lurched and Uncle Coop shot me another surprised, pained look at my driving, but only commented, “I think Rod’s onto something. The police were the first on the scene at the hotel right as you all left. They would have been the first to see the dead people turning. That’s why they banned the media, but said it was to prevent them from being killed in the gang warfare.”
“All their efforts won’t be able to stop it from becoming public knowledge much longer. People all over the Metro area are dying from their wounds. Between the dead somehow reanimating from this virus and the living infected turning within hours, soon they will all be like Karen,” Gary’s voice broke a little, but he went on doggedly, “and we will be faced with an epidemic of violent people trying to kill us all.”
Rod and Coop both told Gary that was my prediction as well, and that we’d started preparations on the farm to stay safe. I was grateful when Rod suggested that he and Gary call the media and different hospitals to try and warn them of what we knew about the virus.
I listened as Gary spoke urgently to a colleague at Hennepin County Medical Center in Minneapolis. He was in doctor mode and holding his grief at bay. Doctor or not, I admired Gary for his strength of character. On the other hand, the news station Rod spoke with seemed more excited to set up an interview with him about football rather than take heed of his important information concerning the virus. I had to give Rode credit for his patient handling of the situation, since it made curse simply hearing his end of the conversation. I thought the media often got a bad rap when they were typecast as single-minded vultures only out for a story, but tonight it was true.
Coop’s phone buzzed and he put Salty on speaker. The shopping teams had finished unloading the last of the supplies into the Red Rose Barn and Salty said they were all exhausted. I wanted to beg people to stay up and keep working, but had to keep it realistic. I’d been sitting on my butt on the phone or strategizing while they’d all been running around for hours. Salty would pass the word that everyone should grab a few hours of sleep and report back to the kitchen for breakfast at 7:00 AM. It didn’t get light out until around 7:30 this time of year anyway.
After the call, I became aware of Uncle Coop’s silent observation. “What now? I’m driving on my side of the road.”
“We need to have a bug-out plan in place. We may need to leave the farm and get everyone away to another safe place.”
“Okay, sure, that makes sense for everyone.”
My uncle’s tone was carefully patient “Not only for everyone else, but for you, too.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “I won’t be leaving King Farm.”
He nodded. “I don’t want to leave, either. For now, it’s a good plan to stay on the farm and shore up defenses. We’ll deal with the,” Coop’s voice hesitated over the word, but he went on determinedly, “zombie threat as it develops. But I’ve been thinking beyond the next week. There are other threats to consider that could make it impossible to stay on the farm. For instance, we wouldn’t stand a chance against a trained military fighting force if they wanted the farm. Their weapons alone could crush us in a few minutes. Think if they had tanks and helicopters.”
“If King Farm is ever attacked by a military force for no reason, then they aren’t our soldiers out to help U.S. citizens, but some sort of illegal militia or bandits. I will fight those groups every inch of the way,” I responded evenly. “A helicopter is an awesome idea, though. We should scope one out. Good thinking. We’ll also need to make it a priority to get whatever artillery we need to be prepared to fight back against a human force. I have faith in you, Uncle.”
“Thank you, Niece, but there’s so much wrong with what you just said, I don’t even know where to start,” Uncle Coop growled out on a frustrated laugh. “The military may want our supplies for their men, or to takeover King House as a barracks. They may be enforcing Martial Law and want to move us to mandatory refugee camps. They don’t have to be bad guys to mean business.”
“Okay, then we’ll need a strategy if any of that happens.”
Coop shook his head impatiently. “And artillery? You don’t have the first idea what weapons we’d need, much less where to get them or how to use them. None of you are trained soldiers, and I was a grunt in Nam forty years ago. Right now, we have a handful of people that shoot and hunt, but the rest are chuckleheads that don’t know the difference between their asses and the end of a gun. A farm is not worth dying over, Acadia.”
“No, but it’s a reason to live,” I replied sharply. Somewhat stunned by my Uncle’s grim tone, I immediately softened mine. I had to keep in mind I was hours ahead of everyone at emotionally processing the threat staring us all in the face, plus Coop had valid points. “King Farm is not just any farm, but my heritage. Even if I could, I don’t want to give up my duty to protect this land and everybody that stays on it. It’s our family, Uncle Coop, and our land. We chuckleheads will train hard and we will all learn. Besides, I may not this minute know what artillery we’d need or where to get it, but I know we’re a smart bunch. We’ll come up with a plan to get whatever weapons we need.”
“Noble sentiments,” Coop responded stubbornly, “but you don’t always get what you want.”
While I struggled not to explode with bitter sarcasm that I hardly needed to be taught that lesson in life, Rod interjected softly, “But if you try sometimes, well, you just might find, you get what you need.”
There was dead silence in the truck. Gary started chuckling first and then Uncle Coop joined him. Soon they were both laughing loudly at Rod’s deadpan quote from an old Rolling Stones song. Turning the truck onto the long, winding entrance road to southbound Hwy 52, I gave in and snickered at the ridiculousness, too.
“Coop, you’re the head of security and I respect that, but I have to say your junior disciple back here is siding with Mary-Acadia on this one.” Shocked, my eyes flew to the rearview mirror. Rod gazed back steadily. “People need goals in life that they work hard towards achieving. Keeps us all healthy, wealthy, and wise, right? With the threat of zombies and Mad Max soldiers breathing down our necks, people will need a goal worth fighting for together.” I was driving, so I couldn’t just stare at Rod, but his golden voice was compelling. “Train the people on the farm to fight guerilla warfare. Have safe spots for caching supplies and bug-out plans to move people temporarily, but don’t permanently give up the farm to any swinging dicks with tanks or helicopters, unless there’s absolutely no choice. Maybe the military can’t be beat straight on, so don’t fight straight on. Outthink them.”
“Well said,” I murmured, delighted with Rod’s support.
Coop grunted, which was his way of saying he’d think about what you said, but then he complained, “Of course you’d think Football’s ideas were great; since he agreed with you.”
Gary sounded exhausted again when he spoke up, as if the involuntary laugh fest of a moment ago had sucked him dry of any remaining emotions. “Actually, I heard Football agree with you both.” I smiled at Gary’s absentminded mimicry of Rod’s new nickname. “All those ideas should be considered. Cooper’s would be a last resort.”
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br /> Rod leaned forward and stroked my cheek with another cherry Twizzler. “See, Boudicca. We’re all on the same side.”
About to tell him what to do with his candy, I saw a flash of something beyond my headlights as I was merging onto the highway. I immediately slowed the truck down to a crawl. A quick look in the side mirror verified no traffic was coming up behind me from the northbound lanes.
“Did anybody see that?” I peered forward once more, the truck almost at a stop.
Rod and Coop strained to see ahead of us while Gary sat up quickly to look over Coop’s shoulder.
Gary asked, “What did you…”
A hand pounded against Coop’s front passenger window.
Gary fell back, yelling out, “Ahh!”
In startled reaction, Coop jerked away from his window towards me, but he was bound by the tight seat belt and couldn’t move too far. I floored the accelerator at the same time Coop’s passenger door was flung open. A loud scream echoed in the confines of the truck cab.
Rod was half over the seat, Salty’s gun aimed over Coop’s shoulder and out into the dark night on the side of the highway. But we were already past the spot and Rod held his fire, the passenger door swinging almost closed when the truck picked up speed.
I kept going faster, looking over at my uncle and then attempting to see behind us. “What the hell was that?”
Gary turned in his seat to check out the back window while Coop reached for the truck door. He slammed it closed and locked it before letting out a big, relieved breath.
Rod patted Coop’s shoulder once and sat back. “I didn’t see anything. Anybody else?”
Gary called out urgently, “Stop! There’s someone back there! They’re running!”
I looked back at the road in front of me, swore, and stood on the brakes while shouting, “Hold on!”
A large SUV blocked the middle of the two southbound lanes. My truck shuddered to a complete stop a few yards away. The beams of the Dodge’s headlights lit up the area. The SUV was a shiny Cadillac Escalade with all the trimmings. No lights were on in the truck and all the doors were closed. Nothing moved in or around the luxury SUV that I could see.