The Becoming
Page 11
The housewife in sweatpants had insinuated herself between Brandt and his escape route to the passenger door of the Jeep while Brandt was distracted by the man in the brown jacket. Brandt lifted his gun and squeezed the trigger, but the teenage girl in dark clothes jumped him from behind, and his shot went wild. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and knocked his weapon from his hand. Brandt ducked beneath the teenager’s arms and hooked his foot around the back of her knee. He pulled hard and knocked her to the ground as he knelt and drew his knife from its sheath on his boot. He turned to put the housewife down with the knife, trying to step away from a hand that clutched the back of his jacket.
The familiar sharp snap of a gunshot rang out before he reached the woman. The woman jerked backwards as her head exploded in a spray of blood. She fell to the ground by the Jeep.
“Brandt! Stop playing around and get in the fucking car!” Cade yelled from above him. He glanced back and saw her standing on the back seat, her upper body hanging out of the Jeep’s sunroof. She had her rifle in hand, and as Brandt looked at her, she pulled the bolt back and released it with an ominous crack of metal. Cade gave him an unreadable look as she adjusted her aim to point the barrel at the next infected attacker.
Brandt took the opportunity Cade’s cover fire offered him to retrieve his gun before he yanked the passenger door open and fell inside. “Go, go, go,” he urged Ethan. He pulled the door shut hard and reached back to tug Cade down inside the car.
Ethan slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and the SUV leaped forward with a squeal of rubber on pavement. One of the infected was in the path of the car, and the thud as they ran the woman over made Brandt’s heart lurch.
Brandt dropped his head back against the seat and exhaled in relief. He raked his hands through his hair and looked at his companions. They both looked whole and healthy and reasonably together, despite the circumstances in which they found themselves. He couldn’t have asked for anything more.
“Which way are we going?” Ethan asked, breaking Brandt’s thoughts. He continued to drive the Jeep down the street, his unblinking focus on the windshield.
“Go west. Toward Mississippi,” Brandt instructed. He took in two deep breaths to steady his nerves before he continued. “Let’s try Tupelo. Michaluk’s caught up to us, and we need to get ahead of it again.”
Chapter 11
The three drove through the late afternoon and part of the evening, taking whatever back roads and even dirt roads it took to get around the ever-growing traffic jams lining almost every highway and interstate outside every city considered even somewhat major in the state. They were approaching the Mississippi state line, traveling through a small Alabama town amusingly called Gordo, when Brandt reached over and gave Ethan’s arm a gentle punch to get his attention.
“Hey, Bennett, stop at that gun shop,” Brandt said. He pointed to the short, squat white building just off the road. The gravel parking lot in which it rested was well lit. A liquor store sat beside it, sharing both building space and parking space. Ethan gave Brandt a questioning glance and pulled the Jeep into the tiny lot.
“What are we here for?” Ethan asked. Brandt unfastened his seatbelt and looked back at Cade. Her rifle rested across her knees, and she looked absently out the side window, pointedly avoiding looking at the still-dark splotch on the back seat.
“We need supplies,” Brandt replied. “You’re a cop, right, Bennett?”
“It’s Ethan,” Ethan said irritably. “Not Bennett. And yes, I am.”
“Got your badge?”
Ethan looked into the rearview mirror and made a worried sound as he saw the expression on Cade’s face. A slow smirk spread across her lips, and she shook her hair back and started to adjust her ponytail. Her expression of understanding and borderline mischievousness made Ethan nervous, and he grimaced as he turned his eyes back to Brandt.
“You already know I do. What do you need it for?” Ethan demanded, even as he leaned forward and picked the badge up off the dashboard. He closed his hand tight around it; the dull metal edge dug into his palm. He used the faint pain to ground himself and focus on not getting angry at the sneaking suspicion he felt creeping over him.
“We’re going to commandeer some guns and ammo from this shop,” Brandt explained.
Ethan gaped at Brandt. Despite his promise to himself to remain calm, Ethan nearly exploded. “That’s not even fucking—” he started. He jabbed his finger at Brandt. “That’s robbery!” he protested.
Cade unbuckled her seatbelt and slid across the seat to the back passenger door. “Eth, we need the weapons,” she said. “And they declared martial law, like, an hour ago. We can do this and it’s not completely illegal. Just in that hazy gray area.” She waved her hand in an odd motion as if to emphasize that haziness and then nodded to Brandt. “Hell, Brandt is U.S. military, so he’s been given ultimate authority to do what’s necessary to maintain the peace. That, of course, won’t happen, and I think we all know it. But my point still stands.” Cade opened the door and slid out into the cool late evening air. Then she leaned back in and added, “We’re doing this with or without you, Ethan. We just need you and your badge because civvies tend to react to police badges better than camo.”
Ethan sighed and turned the Jeep’s engine off. He grabbed his Glock from the console between the seats and slid it into its holster before he climbed out of the Jeep. “I sincerely hope you two know what you’re doing,” Ethan admitted. He circled around the vehicle to join them on the passenger side.
Brandt gave Ethan a wide grin that only served to make Ethan feel like the acid in his gut was trying to crawl up into his throat. Brandt pulled his own handgun from its place on his hip and motioned to the shop’s door. “After you?” he offered pleasantly, even as he moved toward the entrance to the gun shop.
Cade passed Ethan, her own gun in her hand. Ethan noticed that, thankfully, she’d left her rifle in the car; he was sure that her waving that thing around wouldn’t do much to keep any people inside the shop calm. She patted Ethan on the shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t look so nervous, Ethan. We’ll be fine.”
Ethan was far from reassured. “You look like you’re enjoying this entirely too much,” he commented to Cade. Brandt opened the shop’s door and walked inside. Cade grinned again and winked almost playfully as she entered the shop behind Brandt.
As they entered the shop, the old man running the register grabbed a gun from underneath the counter and brandished it, moving to stand protectively by the cash register. Ethan pointed his own gun back at the man and held up his badge. “Police,” he announced in a calm voice. “Put down your weapon.”
The old man hesitated and squinted myopically at Ethan’s badge. Ethan hoped the man wouldn’t notice that it was a Tennessee police badge and not an Alabama one. To his relief, the old man set the gun on the counter after a moment’s pause and looked the three of them over doubtfully. “What do you want?” he asked.
“The state of Alabama has declared martial law,” Brandt spoke up. He moved to the counter and picked up the old man’s gun. After a moment’s study of the weapon, he switched the safety on and tucked the gun into the waistband of his camouflage pants for safekeeping. “We’re here to commandeer weapons and ammunition.”
“You can’t do that!” The old man glared at them and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked ready to fight them off if they so much as stepped closer to him.
“We can, and we are,” Brandt said. He moved around the counter and held his hand out toward the old man. “I need your keys to the cases, please.”
“You can’t do this,” the old man tried again weakly. He clutched the keys tightly in his hand, and he didn’t look inclined to hand them over to Brandt.
“Sir, I don’t think you want to be arrested right now,” Cade warned. “Just do what the man says.” She leaned over to look at the array of hunting knives in the locked case that served as the front counter.
“Ralph Mackenzie,” the old man said grumpily. He crossed his arms again as Cade and Brandt grabbed duffel bags from the shelves and selected some handguns and rifles, loading them into the bags.
“We’re sorry we have to do this, Mr. Mackenzie,” Ethan told him. He looked at Brandt and Cade and warned them, “Don’t take everything. Only what we need. Leave him the rest to protect himself and any family he has.”
Cade nodded and offered the man several of his handguns. When Ralph didn’t move to take them, Cade set them on the counter, the appropriate ammunition next to them. After she watched Ralph for a moment, expecting a response that didn’t come, she turned on her heel to address Brandt instead. “I want to get some of those knives,” she said. “Never know when you might need a quiet weapon.”
Brandt nodded in agreement and looked at Ralph. The old man still stood by the counter, almost sulking, as the three raided his merchandise. “Hey, you know if that liquor store next door is open?”
Ethan turned sharply. “No drinking,” he ordered Brandt sternly.
“I’m not planning on fucking drinking,” Brandt retorted.
Ralph Mackenzie nodded at Brandt. “It’s open. Opened three hours ago,” he said in the surliest tone Ethan had ever heard from a human being.
“Thanks, man.” Brandt grabbed two of the duffel bags and slung them over his shoulders. He shifted them to rest securely against his back before he walked out the front door. Ethan watched through the plate glass windows as Brandt loaded the bags into the Jeep’s back seat before he headed for the attached building next door. Ethan cut his eyes away and gave Cade a quizzical look.
“Hey, don’t ask me,” Cade said defensively. She studied one of the knives she’d taken from the glass case. “He’s doing his own thing. I’m just following along if it looks like it won’t get the two of us killed.” She held the knife up to scrutinize it in the light and then nodded to herself. “Surviving this is more important to me than anything else.”
Ethan sighed and slid his gun back into its holster. “Do you see anything else in here we’ll need?” he asked. He squinted at a rack of camouflage hunting shirts hanging nearby and wondered if they should take any of them.
“I just got what I know how to use,” Cade said. She fastened a knife sheath to her belt, then slid the knife into the sheath and picked up another one from the counter. “I need to get a boot knife,” she mused. “A nice sturdy one like Brandt’s got.” She dropped the knife into the one bag left on the counter and looked at Ralph. He still hovered behind the counter, watching her with a nervous expression.
“You look like you’re preparing for a war or something,” Ralph commented uneasily.
Ethan studied the man for a moment and considered his options. Then he pushed one of the handguns on the counter toward Ralph. “I think we are,” Ethan admitted. “It will probably do you good to shut up shop and barricade yourself and your family into your home with enough food and water to last as long as possible until everything’s cleared up.”
The front door banged open as Ethan’s final words left his mouth. Ethan drew his gun as he spun to face the danger, instinctively pointing it at the door, ready to defend them against anything that walked in. But it was only Brandt returning from his field trip to the liquor store. Ethan sighed, exasperated, and started to put the weapon away once more.
“No, don’t,” Brandt warned. Ethan was ready to object, but a frown spread across his face instead as he saw Brandt’s tight expression. “The guy who runs the liquor store,” Brandt started to explain.
“Tom,” Ralph interrupted.
“Yeah, Tom,” Brandt said. He waved a dismissive hand at Ralph and didn’t bother to look at him. “He’s down.”
“What did you do to Tom?” Ralph demanded. His voice rose in pitch and volume as he moved forward suddenly, his hands out as if he were ready to come around the counter and throttle Brandt. Cade snatched one of the handguns off the counter and pointed it directly at the old man’s head in one smooth movement. Ralph froze and put his hands up defensively as he faced down the barrel of the gun.
“Back up, you old coot, or I’ll put you down too,” Cade warned. Her eyes were hard and cold again. She flexed her finger over the trigger and clenched her jaw.
“Cade,” Ethan barked a sharp warning. He pushed her arm down and forced her to lower the gun. “Now is not the time for that.” He looked to Brandt once more and asked, “Did you get whatever it was you needed from the liquor store?”
“Yeah, I got enough to last,” Brandt replied vaguely. “We need to get moving.”
“We do,” Ethan agreed. He gently removed the gun from Cade’s hand and set it back down on the glass-topped counter before he nodded to Ralph. “Once again, we do apologize, Mr. Mackenzie. If we all make it out of this shit alive, we’ll see what we can do to fix this.”
Ralph looked even more alarmed at Ethan’s words, but he didn’t speak. He simply nodded absently and backed up another step to press against the empty gun cases that lined the wall behind the counter. Ralph remained there with his eyes wide and his hands clenched into fists.
Brandt walked out the door without another word and made a beeline for the back of the SUV. Ethan waited until Cade left the gun shop before he followed her out. He didn’t look back at the old man standing forlornly against his empty gun cases. Cade slid into the back seat of the Jeep, and Ethan joined Brandt at the back. He tilted his head to the side curiously as he saw four opened cardboard boxes full of assorted types of liquor. “Uh, Brandt?” Ethan said. “You plan on having a party or something?”
Brandt smirked and picked up one of the boxes. The bottles inside jingled together as he hefted the box and nodded at the back door of the Jeep. “Or something,” Brandt answered sarcastically. “Open that up and help me load these in, would you?”
Ethan rolled his eyes and unlocked the back door. He opened it and reluctantly picked up another of the boxes. “What are you going to use all this alcohol for?” he asked Brandt as he shoved the box inside.
“You probably don’t want to know,” Cade spoke up. Ethan looked up and saw Cade perched on the roof of the Jeep, her legs hanging down into the car through the opened sunroof. She had her rifle in her hand once again, and she waved it in Brandt’s direction. “It’s almost definitely illegal. I’ll bet a hundred dollars on it.”
“You bet right,” Brandt confirmed. He gave the woman a mischievous grin that made Ethan’s stomach turn and then pulled out his wallet. He removed his last dollar bill, wadded it up, and threw it in Cade’s direction. “You’ll get the other ninety-nine later, darlin’,” he drawled with a playful wink.
Cade laughed and caught the bill with an easy motion of her hand. She kissed her closed fist before she lifted her hips off the car to shove it in her pocket. “I’m going to hold you to that, Evans,” she warned as she grinned at him. Ethan resisted the urge to glare at Brandt as the other man eyed Cade, and he shoved the last box of liquor into the back of the vehicle with more force than was strictly necessary. It was like watching his little sister get hit on by the worst kind of guy, and it was, quite frankly, nauseating.
The faint sound of a police siren brushed the late evening air. The three of them looked up as the sound reached their ears. Ethan squinted down the highway in the direction of the noise.
“What the hell is that?” Cade asked.
Brandt swore loudly and slammed his hand against the side of the Jeep. “That fucking bastard called the damned cops!” he yelled.
“Wouldn’
t you call the cops if three people with guns walked into your business and stole your shit?” Ethan asked pointedly. He shut the back door hard enough to jar the entire vehicle. “Get in the fucking car, Brandt. Cade, get off the roof. I want to get to Tupelo and locked into someplace safe before dawn.”
Chapter 12
Brandt’s Journal
March 8, 2009
I’m following Cade’s lead and keeping a journal. I can guarantee that this won’t last. I’ve never been good at these kinds of things, and I’ve never been the type of person to spill out everything I’m feeling, on paper or otherwise. This will probably end up being one of those bald-facts affairs that just tells things the way they are. And the way things are isn’t exactly the way I want them to be.
We are, figuratively, in the shit.
We made it to Tupelo, Mississippi, as safely as I expected us to make it. We’ve been in this little house for about a month and a half now, unmolested for the most part. There’s been a few incidents involving an infected or two getting uncomfortably close to where we’re hiding, but they were taken care of quickly and quietly. It’s scary how efficient we’ve gotten at this.
Cade spends most of her days either keeping watch on the roof or sitting in the living room with me and Ethan while we try to find reports on the radio. Ethan spends most of his time being the dickish guy he was when I first met him. I suspect that’s his normal personality, despite Cade’s assurances to the contrary. But I’m getting off topic. Ethan’s attitude isn’t the reason why I’m writing in this thing. I said I’d write down what happened, and that’s what I’m going to do.
So here is where we stand now:
By the fourteenth day after Atlanta’s fall (one week after I met Cade and Ethan) the entirety of the southeast was ravaged by the Michaluk Virus. There were some holdouts, mostly in small towns and cities that weren’t close to the larger metropolitan areas, but even those have since fallen. Now it’s just isolated pockets of survivors scattered across the southeastern states, struggling to live.