He did. It was an alien feeling to him now and it made him nauseated.
“The Sprint network is down,” he heard Sam say as she approached his door.
The app on his phone updated. Now there was a red dot over Phoenix and the one over Flagstaff had grown larger. The outbreak was coming their way and they were blind and not moving. If it continued on its current pace it could cut them off in Safford, and while there were back up routes, they were few and would take hours longer to get there.
The phone had updated though, at least Ben was still getting through to them. That meant their service hadn’t been interrupted, but the kid’s Verizon service had. What did that mean?
He looked at the growing dots in Vegas, California, and Dallas; feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. His friends were in the middle of that. How would they get out of there in time? He wanted to dial Casey and find out what was going on, but knew that he couldn’t. They had strict rules to follow; ones that they had all agreed to when they had begun this group of theirs. For the moment, he had to just grit his teeth and bear it. They needed to focus on what they were doing and get to the compounds safely before they got trapped between outbreaks. Ben was the center point keeping everyone moving and they needed to trust him to do just that.
His fingers absently turned the radio back on but he lowered the volume. He had thought of the emergency broadcast system and set the radio to one of the preset stations. There was still nothing airing. That could change any moment and they could get the warning from the government on what to do. That was what you did at times like this, right? But where was it? Why hadn’t they been told anything? They had spent years doing those damn emergency broadcast tests. Where were they now?
“What station is that?” Sam asked, Monica coming around the passenger side and climbing in beside him.
“I have it on 93.7, but it doesn’t matter, they are all like that,” he answered through the window. “Maybe you should get go get the kids strapped in, we need to get moving.
She nodded, then gave his shoulder a slight squeeze. She headed towards her van and he watched her through the rear-view mirror. She was hollering at the kids as she moved to take the pump off the side of her van.
He had insisted that they all gassed up, just in case. Who knew what route they would have to take to get to the compounds; best be prepared for anything.
His began to vibrate. He had turned the ringer off, knowing that sound was an unwanted friend in their situation.
Ben: Someone just tried to hack our system
Ben: I’m holding them off
Ben: If I get cut off keep moving n be safe
“Dad?” asked Caleb.
Michelle was finally exiting the restroom and was walking briskly towards the van. “What took you so long?” he asked, as she got in and shut the door. “I was getting worried.”
“You unzip and piss, it’s a little more complicated for us. We have to take these things almost completely off,” Melissa replied, pulling on the rubber as if to demonstrate.
“We have to take it off to sit!” Nick piped up from the back; which got him a dirty look in exchange. Their suits were designed for safety, but he made a mental note to point out to Sean that they could have at least made it easier to go to the bathroom. You couldn’t always take everything off to pee. And let’s face it, that’s when you were most vulnerable. Comfort just hadn’t been in the design. Monica looked at her phone as he turned the van over and began to back up, waving his hand at Sam and watching her lights come on in response. She was ready to go.
“Oh shit,” Monica said, reading her text.
“Yeah, we need to get moving,” he said, not for the first time.
“I realize that,” she responded hotly.
“Dad!” Caleb yelled at him.
“We don’t yell in the van,” he said sternly, making his son wince. “What?”
Glancing in the mirror he could see the worry in his son’s face and he checked his other mirrors to make sure there wasn’t something coming at him he didn’t see. Nothing but an empty freeway. He got on the interstate and began to accelerate towards ninety, Sam’s van following close behind.
“My phone says no service,” Caleb replied softer, waving his phone in the air for effect. He had already guessed as much, but didn’t want to take out his anger on his younger son. His kids seemed to think the harder they pushed, the better the response they’d get. He only shook his head.
“Probably just the area we’re in,” he replied, not believing it even as it came out. They had come this way too many times over the years for him to believe that the service loss was due to where they were; especially with what was going on in the world today.
He tried to stay calm but his nerves were starting to fray. Did all the phone carriers get shut down? The radio stations were silent. He wondered, if he had a TV before him would any of the channels broadcasting? All communications appeared to be offline. Was that to stave off panic? Because he didn’t know about the rest of the country, but it was feeding his. Maybe someone other than the government had hacked them and shut them off? The cut off feeling was getting worse and it was useless for him to try and speculate without anything to go on. He was only winding himself even more.
“Our phones are still up,” Monica told him, showing an image update on her screen.
“But for how long?” he returned.
Ben said that someone was trying to hack their system. Were they the same people that had shut everything else down? The timing was too coincidental not to be connected. She was texting Ben but it was useless; he wouldn’t answer. He had enough to deal with at the moment, and if they all flooded him with text, he might make a mistake at the wrong time. No, it was best to leave him alone and focus on what came next for them.
He accelerated to a speed that felt uncomfortable but manageable. He doubted the highway patrol was issuing tickets right now.
Their vans sped towards the rising sun, Sam having accelerated to keep pace with him. She had never been to the compounds before, and he needed to keep in mind to make sure she stayed with him.
In fifteen minutes, they’d be in Wilcox and soon after that, the turn off for Safford. He had never driven this fast down this highway before and he prayed that the road was clear ahead. He had been relying on Ben’s advice and now that may be gone as well.
They were on their own.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he vowed to make the best of it.
Chapter 9
Roadblock
Casey
Roswell, NM
He had spent every moment of his drive with Albuquerque haunting the back of his mind, and it ended up being Roswell that gave him problems.
The radio had quit playing music shortly after he got past Abilene. He had grown tired of listening to the hiss of static and had shut the damned thing off. There had been sporadic traffic, none of which had focused in one direction. It appeared everyone felt that they needed to go somewhere, just couldn’t agree on where.
He had expected more people on the road than this.
Were they all barricading themselves in their houses to wait it out? So far, he’d been lucky enough not to run into any trouble, just the occasional emergency vehicle forcing its way passed. He had taken it slow at first, worrying he’d get pulled over, but he hadn’t seen a highway patrolman in a very long time.
They apparently had their hands full at the moment.
He laughed to himself. Maybe he should have brought more of his stash with him. It wasn’t bloody likely he’d get locked up for drug possession. He took a sigh and pushed past it. It didn’t really matter. He had a secret grove at the compound he was quite sure Todd didn’t know about; he’d flip out if he did.
The sign for Roswell appeared and he let up on the gas. His phone began to vibrate, and once he was sure that an asshole wouldn’t hit him for checking it, he glanced at the screen.
Ben: roadblock ahead
“Aw shit,” he swore
loudly.
There was no way to bi-pass Roswell without turning around and losing half the day backtracking. Even then, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t just run into another one. The junction was directly in the center of the city and all of the upcoming exits would just take him through side streets and neighborhoods; places he did not want to be at the moment.
His fingers had begun to tremble. He gripped the wheel tighter, trying to work through it. His nerves were completely destroyed by the constant danger he had been in. He needed a moment to calm down, but didn’t see how that could happen until he got to Arizona.
A sign for Red Bridge Rd flew past and he knew that he was fast approaching where the roadblock had to be. Sure enough, the sparse traffic started to slow and become more compact. The congestion only increased as traffic slowed to a crawl. He cursed and banged his fist against the wheel in frustration. What’s with this shit?
He saw panicked drivers on either side, most looked like fellow Texans fleeing the big cities. He wondered where they were all going that they thought was safe. He doubted they even knew themselves. As long as they were moving away from their perceived danger they’d go wherever the road took them.
At least he had a plan; even though it was majorly getting fucked with at the moment.
A few cars sped by him going the opposite direction, so traffic had to be getting through, right? Or were they turning people around up there? Wouldn’t Ben have warned him before he came this way? Was that not part of what he was supposed to be doing? Guiding them?
Checking his phone, he didn’t see any messages that he might have missed. He was beginning to think that instead of that kiss, he’d give that boy a swift kick in the ass.
Time had passed and the roadblock was beginning to come into view an inch at a time. There were school busses parked on either side of the freeway, forcing traffic into a single lane. There were four men on top of each bus, heavily armed, and pointing their weapons at the traffic below. It didn’t look like they were turning people around, but it definitely looked like they were inspecting every vehicle that approached. He hadn’t planned on this when he chose this route three years ago. He didn’t know why he hadn’t foreseen something like this.
Lifting his phone, he decided to break protocol and send Ben a text, asking if people were getting through the city. If he knew about the roadblock, he had to know something about what he was facing.
Ben: Some are, yes
Ben: For God sakes play it cool
Swearing once more, he decided the wet kiss would turn into a punch in the mouth and a kick in the ass. Play it cool? Like he couldn’t be cool.
Ben: take a hit or something
He had to laugh out loud at that. The boy knew him better than his ex-girlfriend did. They were at a crawl at the moment, would it hurt? He sighed and restrained himself. Even though he had the windows down to air out the car, he doubted these small town hombres would appreciate a pot cloud hitting them in the face when he rolled up. He forced himself to relax and wait his turn.
A redneck in black pants, shirt, and cowboy hat stood at the base of the bus on the left; waving him forward. He had a shotgun propped on his hip and a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. The men overhead were holding their guns pointed in his direction and he had to fight against pissing his pants. His hand wanted to reach for the rifle in the back seat, but he didn’t dare. Not with all those men anxiously waiting for him to make a move.
Relax Ben had told him. He was trying.
The smell from what he smoked at the last rest stop must have lingered because the man leaning forward instantly pulled back. He could hear the men cock their guns and his heart thundered in his chest. Crap.
“Have you been bit?” the man asked, waving his hand in front of his face. He was keeping his distance; the shotgun now held with both hands for quick use. The man’s eyes studied his face, looking for signs of deception.
“Not yet,” he responded, trying not to squirm under the man’s gaze.
“Step out here a second,” the man commanded, reaching for the door handle.
He had restrained himself from reaching for his gun before; but now he was considering it heavily. If he was going down, he wasn’t going to do it without a fight. The door opened and the decision was made for him. He forced his hand to his side and reluctantly climbed out of his hatchback. He was made to turn around and his suit was thoroughly checked for bite marks and blood. When the man started to check his hips, he let his anger slip. “You could at least buy me a drink first.”
“How is it that a shit bag like you is wearing equipment like this?” the man asked. “You some kind of military wannabe? There’s no way they’d take a junkie like you.”
“I’m sure that after today they won’t be so picky,” he returned. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the world seems to be going to hell.”
“Keep up the attitude, you’ll find out what hell is really like,” the man growled.
He remained silent, pissed at the treatment and wanting to tell the guy where to go. Then he felt a hand pat his upper thigh. “Hey, just a bit close there, Cowboy,” he sneered. At least it sounded stronger than the way he was feeling.
“You are not welcome here, stoner,” the man in black said in response; sounding disappointed that he hadn’t found anything.
“That’s alright, I’m just passing through, Agent Kay,” he said, unable to help himself. It had occurred to him how ironic it was getting the pat down from a man in black clothing in Roswell, New Mexico.
Man, I crack myself up.
The cowboy wasn’t smiling, making him laugh harder; the stoic look of Kay represented even more by the man’s firmly set mouth. “You will be escorted to the other side of town. Do not deviate. Do not stop.” This sounded like a rehearsed line and he was less bothered by that, then the way the man kept looking away to the waiting cars to the rear. Something was catching his attention. The obvious distaste the man had shown was gone; it had been replaced with concern and fear.
Well who knew? The man might have some feelings in there after all.
With the cowboy’s divided attention and his permission to move on, he got back in his car. He turned the engine over and gave it some gas; preparing to leave. The man was absent-mindedly waving him forward; dismissing him. He took a glance in his rear-view but didn’t see anything other than drivers waiting their turn. He inched forward and a blue Dodge Durango pulled in front of him. Three men with high powered rifles were in the back; guns pointed straight at him.
Holy shit, these guys are armed to the teeth. Well, except for the kid in the passenger seat of the truck that was pretending to shoot him with a flashing ray gun. Sighing, he followed the smirking kid in the truck and pulled forward.
Above him a rifle went off. He jerked and grabbed his chest; thinking he got shot.
Satisfied that he was still in one piece and realizing that his leg had grown a bit wet; he turned to look behind him. The men on the top of the buses were firing into the cars approaching the town and a sinking feeling filled his gut. It had finally caught up to him! The Durango sped up and he followed suit. The sooner he got through this town and back on his way, the better. He hadn’t seen anything first hand yet, but he wasn’t raring to either.
The gunshots were echoing around him as he gunned it; trying to put distance on them. Even more shots rang out and he pursed his lips, fighting the urge to speed around the truck and floor it; the shit was starting to hit the fan.
He shivered at the thought of how close he had come to being trapped back at that roadblock. His luck was holding; barely. He would need it to stay with him if he was going to get to the compound in one piece.
How was it traveling so fast? He had expected it to come from the larger city to the northwest, not the half of Texas he had put between himself and Dallas.
Within minutes the chaos had dropped away and he could see the other roadblock coming into view. This one was larger than the one
he’d left. He guessed that they had the same misgivings about the turn off to the larger city that he did.
Some people had to be making that wrong turn at Albuquerque. As crazy as things were at the moment, his funny bone had remained intact and he cracked up again. The boy was still shooting that damn fake gun at him too. He was literally living in another dimension and time.
Welcome, to the Twilight Zone.
A truck pulled forward, creating a gap for him to pass through. The Durango pulled to the left and the men were yelling at their comrades on top of the busses; pointing back the way they’d come. He could hear them arguing against letting anyone else through.
He had passed several cars on his short trip across town and he wondered how many were already coming back. There was a heated discussion between a guy atop a tour bus and the three men in the truck. The driver was yelling into a walkie and gunned his engine to let the other men know he was about to pull away.
Shit, it was serious.
A man was waving at him impatiently to keep going and he wasn’t about to argue. He passed through the barricade as fast and safely as he could, then floored it; the hatchback lurching forward. His nerves were making him jittery and he needed a hit, bad.
Getting up to ninety, he quickly put Roswell behind him. As bad as it sounded, he wasn’t worried about their lives; only his. They had people to cover each other’s asses; he was out here alone. Socorro was ahead and he hoped that they didn’t have enough people to barricade a road.
He did not want to go through that again. The thought of traffic fleeing south from Albuquerque was enough stress on his system; he wasn’t sure he could take much more.
Not too much further, he told himself in an attempt to calm his breathing.
Going through this alone was harder than he realized. He had always lived a solitary life. When he considered what might happen if the world went to shit, he saw that as a benefit not a hindrance. He didn’t realize how alone and vulnerable it would make him feel; how isolated.
He heard the motorcycles before they came into view. A large biker gang was driving towards him and his breathing quickened. He slowed to a crawl and tried not to swerve, hands gripping the wheel tightly. The bikes passed on either side and he did his best not to hit one of them. They wore black jackets with Hell’s Angels patches on the back and one of them pounded on the hood of his car as they drove by.
The Rotting Souls Series (Book 1): Charon's Blight [Day One] Page 8