“West, check the medicine cabinet for some painkillers!” Alex declared, springing up so fast that it stirred Lisa awake.
She signed and asked what was happening.
West quickly signed back, “It's Collin, he's in pain,” then he ducked out of the room.
Lisa got up and without hesitation asked, “What do you need me to do?”
“Get a wet cloth for his forehead,” Alex said, doing his best to keep Collin still.
West rushed back with a prescription bottle of Vicodin.
“IT HURTS SOOOO BAD! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE! I CAN FEEL IT TAKING OVER! ALEX MAKE IT GO AWAY! PLEASE, JUST PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY!”
“Hold on, Cully!” Alex yelled.
Lisa placed the rag on Collin's head and held it there.
West took three of the painkillers and stuffed them in Collin's mouth, and then forced him to drink water.
Alex continued to suppress Collin’s violent movements.
“Don't say that shit! Hold on man! We'll be there soon! Just hold on!”
The intense screaming echoed throughout the RV for thirty minutes before Collin passed out. They weren't sure if overwhelming pain shut his system down or if the painkillers were taking effect. Either way, they were relieved.
West looked over at Alex.
“I hate to say it, but I don't think he's going to make it much longer...”
Northwest of Boise, ID
November 30, 2009
1007 hours
Navigating Sweetie up a restricted access mountain road, West picked up the CB radio and hailed the SUV.
“This is West. Pick up, over.”
Seconds later, a reply came through. There was some static, but the voice was discernible.
“Hey, West, Dylan here. What's up? Over.”
“We are coming up on the location, wanted to give you a heads up. Over.”
“Really? Coulda fooled me. Our windows are down and I’m not hearing any people or mechanics. Over.”
“Ya, I know. I have a strange feeling. I figured we would have seen someone in that scout perch a half mile back. At the very least, be hearing some trucks, people, or something. Over.”
“Hey, West, this is Travis now. You think maybe it's just early?”
“Could be, but I guess we are going to find out. We are turning right up ahead. Keep your eyes and ears open. Over.”
“WilCo. Over and out.”
Alex was riding shotgun, with a shotgun in his lap. He just finished loading the magazine tube to its maximum capacity, chambered a shell, and then pressed one more shell inside the tube.
“Why is my spidey sense kicking in?” he asked. “Shouldn’t there be people, like at leastoneperson?”
His eyes left the beautiful black rock formations and plentiful trees and scanned the surrounding area. All along the road, hundreds of abandoned cars were pulled off to the sides, keeping the center lanes free and clear.
“I have a weird feeling, too,” West responded. He hung up the microphone next to the CB receiver. “Someone obviously directed the masses where to park, but where the hell is everyone?”
“Question of the day...”
The RV's tires hummed gently over the paved asphalt. The road dead-ended, so West turned right, ignoring the high fence line and the multiple "Caution: Government Property. Keep out. Trespassers will be shot" signs.
Almost immediately, Sweetie found herself slowly passing by a security checkpoint, though the gates were wide open, and no one appeared to be stationed there presently.
Alex tried not to let his mind jump to conclusions, but with each passing second, it grew increasingly difficult.
“So much for security. I’d say that’s another tally in the weird column.”
“Just what I was thinking. Let's see what's on the other side of this rock formation, shall we?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen clouds that black,” Alex said, pointing up to the dark sky.
Until now, West’s eyes had only scanned horizontally. Before he could look up, though, he found himself navigating down a very tight, windy road.
A quarter mile later, the one lane rocky path opened to a small valley and the President's designated location of Blue Springs.
High mountains surrounded the basin on all sides, offering natural protection as well as numerous fresh water springs. Mobile home units and easy up buildings were erected on rolling green pastures; it looked like a high-tech, fully functioning refugee camp. At the far end of the valley, was a large, man-made opening cut into the rock. Blue Springs was picturesque in every sense of the word...well, had it not been for the raging inferno and mass death.
“Hang on!” West yelled, slamming on the brakes.
“What the hell happened here?” Alex asked, pressing a hand against the dashboard to brace himself.
When the RV came to a skidding halt, West turned around and shouted, “Nick! Wake up Steve. Both of you get armed and get up here! Everyone else get to the back!”
Then, West snatched the radio off the cradle and relayed the information.
“Dylan, Travis, Charlie. Get ready. It's a bloodbath up ahead. No signs of infected, but we are taking no chances! The road widens twenty-five feet ahead, so squeeze next to me and let's scout the area first. Over.”
West could tell the deep voice that came over the radio.
“Roger that. Ten-seconds. Over and out,” Dylan replied.
With their choice of weapons locked and loaded, West, Alex, Steve and Nick met Charlie, Dylan and Travis in front of the vehicles. They formed a half circle, defensive perimeter. Steve stationed himself on top of Sweetie, scoped rifle aimed into the valley.
Both West and Travis pulled out a pair of binoculars and scanned the destruction.
Travis spoke first.
“I'm not seeing any infected, guys. If they're down there, and not burning in those buildings, I can't see 'em.”
Nick noticed that West's moving scan had stopped on a particular area.
“What do you see?”
The sergeant major growled, his way of replying, “Give me a minute.” The thick, dark smoke from the burning buildings made it difficult to focus on anything. Still, West continued to peer through the highly magnified lenses.
Then, a patch of smoke parted for a matter of seconds. It was just enough time for West to see past the death and destruction. To peer into an area where a set of Black Hawk helicopters were spinning their rotors, preparing for takeoff. And, as he focused in, West's eyes captured two things. The first made his jaw drop. The second made his face cringe.
Dressed in a wrinkled pantsuit, Shanna Finley was being escorted out of the mountain entrance. Her face was dirty and her curly hair was in a tangled mess. Furthermore, she appeared distressed, but unharmed.
Behind her, a soldier in blue and white military BDU's nudged a handgun into her back. The soldier had reflective glasses on, hiding his eyes, but West knew who it was. He recognized the jaw line, the raised cheekbones and the pompous smile. The slight limp in his right leg gave it away completely.
“Daytona!” West roared.
Then it all happened so fast.
West tossed the binoculars to Charlie, and then tore off to the SUV. West hadn’t fully closed the driver's door before the tires peeled out.
Nick attempted to ask, “Where are you going?”
Alex tried to say, “Daytona? You mean the guy from your story?”
Travis wanted to argue that, “Hey, there still could be infected down there.”
The others simply had no idea what was going on or why West was taking off.
Within seconds, the odometer read fifty-five miles per hour, and West was weaving around debris and dead bodies. In some instances, he was pretty sure that he wasn’t bouncing over speed bumps. West could feel the intense heat radiate through the Yukon's metal frame. But nothing was going to stop him. He was determined, dead set on round two with his mortal enemy.
As he sped throug
h the makeshift refugee camp, he planned out every detail in his mind. How he was finally going to rescue Shanna, and how he was going to exact revenge. He saw it play out like a classic black and white movie.
He was going to come out of the smoke and bank the car left toward the helipad. He wasn't sure how many men there would be, or what they would be armed with, so he decided against brashly taking the helipad by force. Instead, when he took the first rounds of gunfire, he was going to position the vehicle tactically, to utilize it as cover and concealment. After he threw the shifter into park, he was going to duck out and head to the rear of the Yukon. From there he was going to return fire and zigzag between the nearby trees for the next twenty feet until he reached the helipad. He had a knife and a thirty round magazine for the assault rifle. If he needed more, he'd improvise.
As he looked through the ash-covered windshield, the smoke began to thin out.
“This is it, Chucky. Go time.”
He was so prepared to take on the man who killed his friends. The bastard who kidnapped the only person he considered family. The evil son of a bitch who nearly killed him, twice. He was going to make Daytona pay, through excruciating pain. That much he was certain of.
He was so prepared, that when the black Yukon powered out of the bellowing flames, he didn't know what to do.
It was too late. The last of the three helicopters was in the process of lifting off the ground.
There would be no frontal assault, no weaving in and out of trees returning fire to an unknown number of enemy combatants. There would be no dramatic rescue, no exacting revenge.
The plan West formed, the scenario he played out in his mind, fizzled away. There was just nothing. Worse, there was nothing he could do.
West slammed the shifter into park. He grabbed his assault rifle and ducked out of the SUV. He stood in front of the hood of the car and watched his hope fly away with each spin of the rotor blades. Then, as if it wasn't bad enough, West caught a glimpse of Shanna.
He saw her face pressed up against the glass window of the passenger compartment. He witnessed her look of total despair. He could practically hear her say, “Craig, help me!”
Then, a white hand grabbed her by the hair and yanked her head backward, out of view.
What happened next sent a tremor throughout his body.
Daytona appeared in the window. At first, his face wore an expression of utter disbelief. As though he was seeing a ghost because there was no way Craig West could possibly be alive, let alone be here and now. Then, the SEAL’s neck twitched and his lips curled into a rapist smile.
In one hand, he waved goodbye with his handgun, then his other brought Shanna back to the window. He made sure the moment was just long enough for West to watch him forcibly kiss her on the mouth.
Then, the helicopter lifted higher and higher until it was out of view.
West stood there, unmoving.
“Shanna...”
1019 hours
One by one, everyone piled out of the RV's side door and gathered in front of the two vehicles. Last out were Alex and Steve who adjusted Collin's arms around their shoulders.
Normally, Collin's weight would be fine for one person, but Collin had zero strength left in him. His legs dragged along the grass and his head rested against his chest. He was on his last string of life. He needed the vaccine.
“What was that cowboy crap all about?” Nick said, slamming the passenger side door behind him.
“Who was that?” Travis asked, looking up at the helicopters.
West ignored Nick's question but chose to answer Travis'.
“His name’s Daytona.”
“Wait, likethe Daytona? The one who tried to kill you?” Alex asked.
“Yes. Him. And he had Shanna with him, too.”
“I'm a little lost,” Travis started to say, “What the hell is going on?”
The others, those who hadn't been in the back of the RV to hear West's story, were equally unsure what was going on. But West was in no mood to do any explaining.
Alex could tell, so he opted to fill everyone in.
“Daytona is this badass thug from-”
But before Alex could explain, two men in black suits armed with pistols ran out from the circular cave entrance. When they saw the survivors, they came to a skidding halt, surprised. They raised their handguns and started shouting orders and questions alike.
“Drop your weapons!”
“Who are you?”
“Lay your guns down now, or we'll shoot!”
“What are you doing here?”
West and the others scrambled for cover behind the vehicles. Unsure of who the suits were, the survivors raised their guns, too.
Nick absolutely did not want the situation to elevate to bloodshed, especially with the women and children present. So, in an act of good faith, he set down his shotgun and walked out in the open, hands in the air.
“I'm unarmed! Don't shoot!”
The older of the two men kept his aim on Nick, and paced heel-toe toward him.
“Do not make any sudden movements!” the man ordered, patting Nick down, while keeping his handgun trained against Nick's midsection. Satisfied, the man continued on with his aggressive questioning. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
Keeping his hands in the air, Nick answered.
“My name is Nick Stronghead. These people are my friends. We are survivors. We heard the broadcast and made our way here. Who are you guys?”
“Tell your men to lower their weapons,” the man ordered, ignoring Nick's question. “Your men are pointing their weapons at members of the United States Secret Service! Do as I say or I will be forced to open fire.”
“Secret Service?” Nick mumbled to himself. Then, he turned his head back to the others. “Everyone, lower your weapons. These men are Secret Service.”
“Nick, I don't know about this...are you sure?” Travis shouted back.
Nick pivoted around.
“Look, I am going out on a limb here to believe that you are who you say you are. You need to show a little faith and believe that we are who we say we are, too. You are obviously outnumbered and you're completely exposed, so we both know that you don't want to open fire. I can get them to lower their weapons, but only if you lower yours. Balls in your court. Either you come to terms with that or this gets bloody. Fast.”
The man didn't hide his mental debate. His face displayed obvious signs of vexation, but he was smart enough to agree with Nick's assessment. He looked back at his partner, lowered his own gun and shouted, “Kim. Lower your weapon, but stand fast.”
Nick lowered his hands and shouted back to the others. “Everyone lower your guns!”
The others complied and cautiously came out from behind cover.
“So mister Secret Service man, you got a name?” Nick asked.
“I'm Clint. That's Kim. We don't have time for this bullshit. Just stay out of our way, got it?”
Leading with his shoulder, Clint jammed his way past Nick.
Dylan noticed the unnecessary action and made sure to position his large frame in Agent Clint's way.
“Unless you want fire, I don't think you're going to find what you're looking for back there,” Dylan said, referring to the inferno behind them.
“He's right,” Agent Kim declared, dryly. “Almost all the buildings are toast. Even if we get down to the supply trucks at the end, there's no way we can sift through everything and make it back here in time!”
“Fuck,” Agent Clint cursed.
“What are you looking for?” Nick asked.
“Emergency medical supplies. And a trauma surgeon,” Agent Clint answered with attitude. Despite being five inches shorter than Dylan, Clint straightened up, looked into the Canadian soldier's eyes and finished, “So unless one of you civilian assholes has what we’re looking for, get the hell out of my way and stop asking questions!”
Dylan laughed. “That's it, eh?”
“What'
s so funny?”
“Tell him, Charlie.”
Charlie smiled.
“I enlisted as a field medic. But the Canadian military discovered I was better at killing. Go figure, eh.”
West knew Lisa was in charge of documenting their supplies, so he signed over to her.
“Do we have any trauma supplies?”
She spoke and signed back, “Yes, they are in the RV. Why?”
“These men need help. Can you go grab them?”
Lisa nodded and hustled inside Sweetie.
“Agent Cunt,” West said intentionally.
“It's Clint, asshole!” the man replied, turning from Dylan to face the new target of his rage.
“Sorry, CLINT. Looks like we have everything you need. So mind telling us what the hell is going on?”
“Listen here you little…” Agent Clint started to say.
“Clint stow your shit! We don't have time for your ego!” Agent Kim ordered. The Korean-American stepped in between the two men. “Look, whoever you people are, we need your medic and your supplies. We don't have time to explain, but get everything you have and follow us.”
Clint was furious that Kim had circumvented the chain of command; worse that he was put in place in front of the civilians. But, for the sake of his oath, Clint kept his mouth shut and disregarded the insubordination.
When Lisa returned with the supplies, everyone started moving toward the two agents. They made it a matter of steps before stopping dead in their tracks.
“Everybody! Hold the fuck up!” Alex yelled. Clearly his patience had run out. “We just got done driving like eight hundred fucking miles, and we aren't going anywhere ‘til I get the vaccine for Collin! So before we help you, you need to help us!”
Alex's words left his mouth with fierce demand, and an underlying tone indicating that he was nothing but serious.
As much as the natural reaction was to help someone in need, the group of survivors shuffled back in support of Alex's words. Collin was an integral part of their survival. A co-leader who literally gave his life for one of them. So, in an act of solidarity, they held strong and waited.
Agent Kim walked toward Alex and bluntly answered, “We don't have it.”
The Longest Road (Book 2): The Change Page 40