V Plague (Book 17): Abaddon

by Patton, Dirk

  “Call Jessica?”

  “Can’t reach her. She’s supposedly on a special assignment. Hoping that doesn’t mean she’s sitting in a cell.”

  Lucas grunted but didn’t say anything further. After a short time of listening to the heavy rain lash the metal building, I turned and looked at the truck. There were thin sheets of canvas stretched over the cab and bed to provide basic protection from the sun, and that was it. They would be next to useless in the pounding rain.

  A search quickly found a large storage cabinet stuffed full of heavy, waterproof tarps. They were all large with stout grommets set into the perimeter for securing them. With Rachel, Natalie, Mavis, and to a lesser degree Lucas, I was able to get several of them placed over the skeletal ribs that supported the cover over the back.

  Tying them down with lengths of rope, I took a moment to survey the results. It was by no means perfect, gaps still existing where I’d had to overlap edges, but it would have to suffice. The people riding in back weren’t going to be dry, by any means, but at least they would be sheltered from the worst of the storm.

  Covering the cab was somewhat easier, but only because the open area was so much smaller. The gaps were larger than in back, and I tried to compensate for this by adding another layer that bridged the open areas. I wasn’t optimistic about how well it would work, but I also wasn’t worried about getting wet. As long as the storm wasn’t able to drive rain into my face, I’d be able to see. Or would I?

  One look at the wipers and I knew it was going to be a slow drive to Woomera. The harsh Australian climate had reduced what was once flexible rubber blades to little more than dried out and cracked sticks. A thorough search of the shop failed to yield a fresh new set. No surprise there.

  “Stick rags under them,” Natalie said.

  I turned and looked at her in surprise.

  “Never been really poor, have you?”

  I liked her idea but didn’t bother responding. When someone asks that particular question, they’re convinced they’ve had it harder than anyone else ever has. And maybe she had. I had no idea, but there was absolutely nothing productive in getting into a who had the rougher time growing up contest.

  Finding more rags, I clambered up onto the hood, wrapped each of the desiccated wiper blades and secured the fabric in place. Yes, they would get soaked immediately when we drove outside and no, they would be nowhere near as effective as rubber. But a wet rag will push water and they would be far superior to doing nothing.

  “One thing to take care of before we go,” Lucas said.

  I looked at him and nodded.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said. “You don’t look like you’re ready for prime time just yet.”

  “I’m good to go.”

  “No, you’re not,” Rachel said sternly. “You’ve already got some stitches that have popped because you’re up and moving too soon. Don’t care if you’re healing faster than normal and feeling better, you keep tearing stitches out and you’re going to have a problem.”

  “Let John take care of it,” Ziggy said, grasping his arm protectively.

  She held little John with her other, propping him on her hip. Lucas looked at his wife and son and I knew he’d relent. Hell, how could he not? It wasn’t like he needed to do this to protect them. This was avenging fallen brothers.

  Ziggy held his eyes until he looked down and nodded. Leaning in, she kissed him gently on the cheek and led him away.

  “Don’t suppose you can just let this go, can you? Not take an unnecessary risk?”

  I looked at Lucas and his family before shaking my head.

  “I know Lucas. If I don’t do this, he will. And there’ll be no stopping him.”

  Rachel watched him for a moment before looking at me and nodding agreement.

  “Then be smart about it. What’s your plan? And don’t tell me it’s to let that thing out and shoot it.”

  57

  It turned out the rolling door was jammed in the down position. The damaged peg and bracket I’d shot off to get it to lower had weakened its entire structure, allowing the wind to twist and bend the frame rails. I’d solved this problem the simplest way I knew how. Brute force.

  A chain running from the door to the truck’s bumper made quick work of the issue. The entire thing was ripped free from the surrounding metal, falling to the concrete floor with a tremendous crash.

  Jumping down, I unhooked the chain, tossed it into the back in case it was needed again and climbed back behind the wheel. Dog was in my seat and grunted his annoyance at being made to move. Climbing over Mavis, he ended up with his ass in her lap and head in Rachel’s. I glanced at him and grinned as I shifted into gear.

  “You’re spoiling him,” I said to Mavis who was rubbing his back with both hands.

  “He’s my friend,” she said with a shrug.

  The truck bounced as it crunched its way over the fallen door, then we entered the storm. I wasn’t sure if the rain was coming down in sheets, buckets or cats and dogs. All I knew was I couldn’t see more than twenty yards beyond the windshield. Turning on the wipers did next to nothing, but not because of the rags that were instantly saturated. They just couldn’t begin to keep up with the constant deluge.

  Crawling along, I piloted the big vehicle through deep pools of water and the occasional river of runoff to a massive gasoline tank, though it was labeled petrol. It was elevated on metal legs so that no pump was needed to fill a vehicle. Gravity did all the work. This was a stroke of luck because I didn’t have any way to refuel the truck otherwise.

  “Gas? Thought this thing was diesel,” Rachel said.

  “Multi-fuel. Will burn just about anything, including jet fuel. It prefers diesel, but everyone’s having to make sacrifices these days.”

  Pulling to a stop, I got out into the rain and was soaked to the skin in seconds. Half blinded by water, I fumbled the nozzle off its hook and into the tank. I would have preferred to get out of the weather while it filled, but the opening was large and facing far enough up for rain to get in. Not wanting to deal with water in the fuel, I stood hunched over, shielding it with my body.

  This was the downside to gravity fueling versus a pump. It takes much longer. But there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it, so I stood in the downpour and tried to ignore the frequent flashes of lightning and claps of thunder that seemed as if they were directly overhead.

  When I had put in as much fuel as possible, I spun the cap into place and hurried around to the back. Two long coils of hose, already connected, were waiting for me. Pulling the tarp aside, I grabbed them and returned to the tank.

  Working in the rain, which makes things three times more difficult than normal, I got the end of one hose over the fueling nozzle. Pulling the cab door open, I came face to face with Dog who immediately started licking the water off my face.

  “Pull the truck out to the street and wait,” I called to Rachel while fending Dog off.

  I stepped back as she climbed over Mavis and shoved Dog out of the way. The truck roared to life with a belch of black smoke, then slowly pulled away. I watched it bounce through two hub deep channels of rushing water, making a mental note to leap over them when I left. There wasn’t even a question that I’d be washed away if I tried to walk through them.

  With the truck at a safe distance, I squeezed the lever to activate the flow of gas and used a nylon zip tie to make sure it stayed open. This wasn’t the kind of handle you find at modern gas stations that will shut off automatically when it senses back pressure. This was old school. As long as the lever was in the open position, fuel would continue to flow.

  On the far end of the large coil of hoses was a plug I’d fashioned from a thick bolt. It would keep the gas from gushing out until I removed it. Picking up the bundle, I headed for the registration building, carefully unspooling the hose as I went so it didn’t kink.

  Reaching the door, I paused in the pouring rain when a feeling that was foreign washed over me. I
t took a few moments for me to realize it was fear. Cold, primal fear. I shook my head, struggling to deal with something so base.

  I’m not saying I’ve never been scared. I’ve been scared plenty of times. You’re a fool if you’re aren’t afraid of the infected, or bullets whizzing over your head, or the chance your parachute won’t open, or... well, you get what I’m saying. Anyway, this was different. This was the kind of fear that comes from someplace deeper, and I could feel it pulsing in the base of my skull.

  The virus? Had some long dormant part of me been awakened? The part that humans hadn’t relied on since we crawled out of the caves and become the most dangerous species on the planet?

  I had no way of knowing, but there wasn’t a fiber of my being that wasn’t warning me to stay away from whatever was behind that door. Well, I didn’t plan to set it free and I was wasting time. With a supreme effort of will, I ignored the warnings my mind was screaming and opened the exterior door.

  This door, most likely in deference to the climate, was heavy steel, probably with a foam core for insulation. As soon as I cracked it open, the scent of the beast struck me like a slap across the face. How I didn’t drop the hose and run, when that’s all I wanted to do, I can’t say. Somehow, I forced myself to push through. One look and I dropped the hose, whipping my rifle up and searching for the creature.

  The wooden door Rachel and I had braced with the stone table had been shredded, the heavy slab of rock lying on its side amongst the splinters. The beast had clawed its way out.

  That thought struck me like a bolt of lightning and without turning I stepped back to the threshold, ready to slam the door behind me and run like the hounds of hell were in pursuit. A rumbling sound, like a distant storm, caused me to spin, aiming into the far corner of the room.

  In the deep gloom against a wall was a tiger that easily weighed in at three or four times what I did. Its paws were the size of dinner plates, large and powerful enough to remove my head if it wanted.

  I met its huge eyes, briefly noting several wounds in its powerful body. Apparently, none of them were fatal. It stood, staring back at me, no more than twenty feet away. An easy leap for such a large predator.

  Time stretched out as we faced each other. Fragile human with a rifle woefully underpowered for an animal its size. Perhaps a perfectly placed shot would bring it down, but there was no way the M4 could stop it in its tracks. If it decided to attack, we’d both die. Me quickly as I was eviscerated by a single swipe of the razor-sharp claws, the tiger more slowly.

  Why wasn’t it attacking? More importantly, why the fuck hadn’t I pulled the trigger? Or run? Was maintaining eye contact stalling the beast’s lunge for my throat? Or was something else going on?

  Without a conscious decision, I slowly lowered the rifle off target. I never allowed my eyes to drift away from the animal’s. We simply stood there, and I stared at death. Something modern humans have forgotten.

  The tiger’s eyes shifted briefly to look at the open doorway behind me. Was that what it wanted? Escape? But why not just kill me and stroll out? There was nothing I could do to prevent that from happening and there was no doubt the creature knew that.

  It’s injuries? While not fatal, I had no doubt they were very painful. Was it afraid of the rifle in my hands, even though it was no longer aimed?

  The beast took a single step closer, eyes locked on mine. I’m not ashamed to say I nearly shit my pants. But that was the impetus I needed.

  The rifle may have been off target, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t ready to go. I pulled the trigger, firing a burst into the floor directly in front of the tiger’s face. It shied away with a bellow of rage, and that gave me an instant to leap for safety. Tumbling backward with my feet tangling in the hose, I managed to grasp the door handle and slam it closed as I fell to my ass in the pounding rain.

  Immediately, the door was assaulted, shaking in its frame. Roars of frustration sounded as the beast continued trying to batter its way through.

  Normally, I’d be confident in the strength of an exterior steel door. But there wasn’t a damn thing normal about using one to keep a pissed off tiger contained. I had no idea how long it would hold under the constant barrage.

  Scrambling to my feet, I nearly fell again because of the goddamn hose. It had come outside with me and I quickly kicked free while keeping the rifle trained on the door. The sounds coming from the other side were horrible, a few of them the unmistakable scream of tortured metal giving way.

  I turned to run, hesitating at the sight of the hose snaking across the parking lot to the fuel tank. An M4 rifle might not stop the tiger, but fire sure as hell would.

  Pulling the plug from the end, fuel began gushing out and I leaned forward to press the end against the door’s threshold. Almost immediately the attack on the door ceased, then I could hear powerful snuffling sounds as the beast sampled the smell of gasoline.

  I wanted to turn and run. Wanted to open as much ground between us as possible before it managed to break out. But I stayed there as gas began to pool in front of the door. Waited for the right moment to act and ensure the beast didn’t escape.

  Maybe I should have just run away. Allowed it to get out and roam the desolate countryside. But what about any other survivors it might encounter? It was a proven man-killer, and like any predator, once that line is crossed it will be crossed again. They no longer have any fear of humans. I flinched involuntarily when the tiger resumed its assault on the door with a bellowing roar.

  There were now several gallons of fuel spreading across the parking lot and mixing with the rain water to run along the front of the building. Moving twenty yards away, I brought out a road flare and sparked it to life. Even in the coolness of the falling rain, I could feel the heat on my face. I let it burn for a few seconds, then threw it at the door.

  I was in motion the instant the flare left my hand. Running. Fear induced adrenaline fueled my legs and it felt as if my feet only touched the ground every other step. There was the deep whoomp of gasoline igniting from behind me and I pushed harder as a wave of heat washed across my back. I didn’t look back, just ran as hard as I could until I exited the caravan park and arrived at the truck.

  Rachel was still behind the wheel, so instead of making everyone move I ran around and leapt up into the passenger seat.

  “Go, go, go!” I shouted as I twisted around for a view of the caravan park.

  Rachel got us moving, rolling up through the gears like she’d driven a deuce before. A couple of hundred yards later I was yelling for her to stop.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I didn’t answer, just opened my door and stepped out onto the running board. Despite the intensity of the rain, flames were shooting into the air from inside the caravan park. Nearly a minute passed and Rachel got out to stand on her running board.

  “What are we waiting for?” she asked, looking across the cab’s roof at me.

  The fuel tank at the caravan park suddenly detonated with a brilliant flash. The fire had found its way back up the hose. A couple of seconds later, the report of the explosion reached us, but it was lost in another clap of thunder. We stood in the rain, watching a raging torrent in a drainage channel carry burning fuel towards us.

  “Let’s go see if our ride’s waiting,” I said, jumping down and heading for the driver’s seat.

  58

  The rain wasn’t letting up. Dark clouds pressed down and continually emptied a massive volume of water onto the dry, cracked earth. It was almost as if Mother Nature were trying to wash away all the blood and disease that mankind had spread across the planet. And she was doing a good job.

  We hadn’t traveled more than ten kilometers south on the Stuart before encountering our first flooded wash. The road dipped several feet, following the terrain. Rushing across it was a muddy torrent that carried all sorts of debris. Everything from uprooted bushes and stunted trees to the carcasses of dead animals.

  Even though it was dayti
me, the dense clouds and heavy rain had created a twilight world. Lightning flashed frequently, the quick strobes of intense light also revealed something else in the water. Infected humans. Not what I would call a large amount, but enough so that we saw at least one or two every minute.

  “They’re moving,” Mavis breathed, eyes glued to the scene on the other side of the streaked windshield.

  “You sure?” I asked. “The water’s rough. It’ll roll them around, causing their arms to flop.”

  “I saw it, too,” Rachel said.

  “There!” Mavis cried, pointing.

  I leaned forward and watched as a female struggled against the current that was carrying her along. For as strong and determined as the infected are, she was no match for the power of the water. None of us had anything to say as the woman clawed for purchase on a large tree trunk also caught in the flood. It rolled and she disappeared beneath the roiling, muddy surface. Mavis scooted to the side until she was pressed tightly against me.

  Circling my arm around her narrow shoulders, I held her tightly as I looked for a way around the wash. Whatever Australian agency maintains the roads had known the area could flood and had installed a tall pole with depth markings at the lowest point of the dip. Squinting to see through the glass and pouring rain, I was pretty sure the waterline was somewhere around one hundred and eighty.

  “Anyone got a clue what a hundred and eighty centimeters is in feet?”

  I’m not sure why I bothered asking. I could tell just by looking at the wash that there was no way I was going to drive into it. Even with a truck as large and heavy as the deuce and a half.

  “Roughly six feet,” Lucas said from right behind me. “Bloody yanks need to learn the metric system.”

  “You just like it because saying twenty-five centimeters sounds more impressive than ten inches,” I shot back.

  “What’s the big deal about ten inches?” Mavis asked innocently.