“So you’re Ben?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shit, I ain’t no sir. Call me Evan.”
The older man held out his hand. Ben looked at his face and back to the rest of them. He stood and pointed to Evan’s leg.
“Let me see it.”
Jessica moved in front of her husband. She held her hand out to stop Ben from coming closer. Amy pulled at Ben’s sleeve. Jessica pointed her finger at his face.
“Now, you just wait a damn minute,” she said.
Ben reacted with anger. Upset, he let loose the pent-up rage. Like a lightning strike, it was all over in one explosive second. He slapped Jessica to the floor, pushed Amy away, and lifted the blanket. It was not the scent of mildew he smelled. The powerful odor of infection is what filled the air.
He fought back the urge to throw up and staggered toward the door. The fresh air helped him. Sounds of the women crying flooded his ears. He punched the wall and began pacing at the small open space before the doorway. Ben shouted at the women.
“How long has it been like that?”
“A few days.” Amy shrieked.
Jessica held her face as she covered Evan’s leg. Ben slammed his fist into the wall again. His voice rose loud and thundering in the small camper.
“Evan, how long?”
“A week, happened at the state line,” Evan said, clearing his throat. “It’s not good.”
Ben scowled at Jessica. He said, “You said it was cut.”
“I know what I said. It’s the same thing.”
“He’s got a goddamn bone sticking out of his leg.”
Amy jumped up and slapped his face. Her hands hit him with repeated blows. He let her until she was exhausted. Jessica sat beside her husband stroking his hair. She looked at Ben, begging him with her eyes.
“Please… he’s my husband, their father. He’s—”
Ben grabbed the van keys from the table, snatched up the shotgun from beside the bed, and stepped out the door. He walked and snatched his bike from the side of the camper. Amy appeared in front of him. She had the look of an angry cat. With eyes wide and wild, her face reddened, she stood with a self-righteous posture and pointed her gun at Ben’s face.
“He’s our family. You don’t understand. He’s family. You protect family.”
Ben squinted at her. He said, “If you plan to shoot me, you need to turn the safety off.”
Amy glanced at the side of the gun. She did not see Ben swing the shotgun. It struck her arm and knocked the pistol out of her hand. Ben picked it up from the ground and grabbed his bike. He tossed the bike on top the van and strapped it down. As he walked past Amy, Ben did not look at her.
“I know about family.”
Inside the camper, he gathered what he thought was useful. Jessica wept as she watched him. Maggie hid under the table. He stopped at the door and looked at the crying faces.
“We leave today,” Ben said. He won’t make it if we don’t. He has hours left, not days. His leg needs to be amputated.” His voice came out loud and unwavering as he commanded them. “Now stop crying and start packing. We are losing daylight.”
It was a chore to pack the van. They had to keep the back seat clear for Evan to spread out his leg. He made Amy and Jessica help carry the screaming and sweating man to the van. Evan passed out before they got him inside, making the job harder. Ben rushed them along. Checking what they put inside the van. Tossing what they did not need. He pushed them to hurry. The sun was setting when they climbed inside, and he drove from the campground.
Daylight faded into night. He did not stop when they asked him to stop. Ben drove faster when they pleaded with him to stop. He ignored their cries until he needed to stop. He pissed standing by the front tire, holding the keys. The women squatted behind the van and begged him not to leave them. He waited with failing patience for them to hurry. More miles went by, and his eyelids grew heavy. He looked at the signs, they were getting closer to Jackson with each one they passed.
“I’m sorry,” Amy said.
She spoke to him from the passenger seat, breaking the silence. Ben did not look at her.
“For what?”
“For saying you didn’t know about family.”
Ben shook his head. He still did not look at her. His mind focused only on the blacktop. There were miles yet to go, through darkness and over asphalt. She cried to herself. Time passed and then she slept.
Ben rolled the windows down, the smell of Evan’s leg made him queasy. Maggie complained of the cold. He ignored her. He watched the road, driving slower than he wanted, avoiding the many obstacles in the way. Ben drove from the road when he needed and drove over dead bodies when he had to. He saw a hitchhiker, naked and bleeding, with thousands of fish hooks in his flesh. Ben passed him by, watching the man hold his thumb out, begging for a ride. Distance and time, he felt in his bones how close they were getting.
Amy woke as he slowed down, she leaned forward to look at what the headlights illuminated. Large red letters on massive white signs spaced over the road stated ‘FEMA CAMP 027 KEEP AHEAD’.
Ben smiled as he squeezed the steering wheel. Amy woke her mother and sister. Crying and laughter filled the van. Ben continued to drive past the cars that lined the highway. Ahead was mile after mile of metal skeletons. Evan woke and asked where they were. Ben looked into the rearview mirror.
“We are not far, maybe a few miles or so. Almost there.”
There was a sudden loud sound, and they all looked at one another. It grew louder, like the noise of an old steam engine. Ben slowed the van down to a crawl, he stopped on the road and killed the engine.
Jessica and Amy spoke in unison. “What is it?”
“A flat,” Ben said.
He stepped out to check the tires. The rubber of the left rear tire flared out over the concrete. There was no spare to replace it. Ben sat on the cold blacktop, staring at the tire. He decided he would travel ahead at daybreak, get help, and return to rescue them. The possibility the road was patrolled kept him from sleeping. He sat in the van and listened to them snoring. In the near distance, a solitary bird called out in the darkness. Holding his head from the window to avoid the smell of Evan’s leg, his mind wandered back to his parents, he wished they were with him, sitting on the road waiting for sunrise.
When Ben could see the gray sky of early morning, he got his bike down. The women stirred in the van, got out with quiet movements, went about their morning necessities. He told them what he planned to do.
“I’ll be gone for a while. It will take time to ride there and back. So just hold tight. And keep an eye out for anyone.”
Ben left the shotgun and pistol in the van. He rode the bike as he scanned the trees and vehicles on both sides of the road. Ben felt vulnerable on the highway. The vehicles stopped lining the roadsides after he traveled several miles. He could see a river to his left. The brown water shimmered with sunshine glistening off the ripples. He moved on, observant of the tree line, and his pace slowed.
He came to a stop on a straight stretch of the roadway to take a drink of water. In the middle of the road ahead of him sat a single white plate with a pale blue ring painted beneath the dirty surface. A large silvery fork rested across it. Ben saw the large empty shell of an insect on the dirt covered plate bottom. It appeared to have sat undisturbed for a long time. The arrangement seemed intentional, and he wondered who would leave such a thing.
As he moved from it, the thought occurred to him, either everyone else who passed by left it untouched, or he was the first person to come by after its placement on the road. He pedaled faster. It had to be there. He needed it to be there. Ben pushed himself to keep going after his legs became fatigued.
He saw them, less than a half-mile from him, the gates that led to his salvation. He jumped from the bike and walked toward them. Ben fell to his knees and cried at the sight. His long journey was over. He was safe at last. Ben stood and looked at the signs around the gate using his f
ather’s binoculars. They warned to remain calm, to follow orders, no weapons were allowed, and that any infected persons needed to be reported right away. He hunted for signs of people, black smoke columns rose from far off, but he could not see anyone moving near the gates.
Ben took his father’s revolver off and counted the rounds. He wrapped it and the rifle in a plastic trash bag he had in the bottom of his backpack. Ben stuffed them into a hollow tree trunk away from the road. He did not know what would happen if he tried to carry them inside, or if they would even let him get close with a weapon. Ben decided to keep the butcher knife stuck in his belt. They would probably wonder why he was not armed. No one other than the sick went unarmed for long in the world the way it was now.
Ben took a deep breath and rode toward the gates. He was finally to Jackson.
I wonder if they have hot water from the tap.
23
Frank studied the strange man who stood in front of the white van but did not react to the sight of him. Angela waited for Frank to do something. Her stomach quivered when she looked at the strange man.
“Can’t we just go around?”
Frank turned to her and shook his head. He said, “The cars are too close together. Hell, I don’t think I can even turn around.”
“What do we do?”
“I’ll have to move the van over. Give us some room to get by.”
Frank opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement. He pointed for her to stay inside the cab. With his pistol out, he walked toward the front of the truck. The man turned to look at Frank. He extended his hand, thumb in the air. Thousands of glistening hooks hung from his naked form. They jiggled from his skin as he made a step toward the truck. He tried to speak, but the hooks piercing his lips held them together, preventing him from talking.
Frank strode forward, gun raised to point at the man. He fired a shot into the hooked man’s skull as he stepped on past. A spray of blood launched into the air. The man fell limp to the ground. Angela was startled by the noise. She sat stunned by what she witnessed. Frank stepped past the man and tried to open the driver door of the van.
Angela saw him speak to the window, and point with his hand motioning forward. There was a spray of glass across the road. The sound of a gunshot came from in the van. She looked and saw Frank lying face first on the blacktop. Angela screamed and debated driving the truck down the road in reverse.
She saw his body roll over toward the side of the van. He got to a squat beside the door. With one swift motion, he reached in and pulled out the shotgun along with the woman holding it. His face wore rage. His mouth was open, and a primal scream came from his throat as he stomped his foot down on her head. He brought his boot down several more times until a small child dove over the top of her. Frank reached into the van again and unlocked the driver door.
Angela watched as he got in and drove the van into a smaller car, forcing it off the blacktop. Another young woman jumped from the back door and ran to kneel over the older woman on the road. Frank started back toward the truck and the young woman stood up to hit him. With one swing, his hand arced in the air, and she fell limp to the road. Frank did not miss a step. He opened the truck door and cranked the engine.
Angela sat speechless as he pulled forward and halted. The little girl blocked the road. She stood in the middle of the lane and held her hands high above her head. Frank blew the horn. His breath escaped in deep heaves. The little girl remained motionless, staring through the windshield at him. Angela tried to speak, but he ignored her. Frank slammed the shifter back into park. He beat his hands against the steering wheel.
“Fuck.”
He slowed his breathing, brushed the sweat-dampened hair from his face. Frank turned to Angela, to see her nodding head. He stepped back out and walked to the little girl. He pointed to the woman he stomped on earlier.
“Who is that?” he said.
The girl shook her head and gave him a look of confusion. She pointed to her ears, they were ringing from the shotgun blast inside the van. He spoke louder, shouting into her ear as he placed his hand on her head, turning it toward the women. He pointed again.
“Who?”
“Mama.”
He pointed to the younger woman who began stir.
“Who?”
“Amy.”
He poked her chest.
“Who?”
“Maggie.”
Amy wiggled on the ground, the sound of her moaning turned into crying. She got on her hands and knees and crawled over the blacktop to her mother. Maggie tugged on Frank’s shirt, he stopped watching Amy and looked down at her. She spoke in a loud voice, unable to tell the difference. She pointed south
“We need a ride,” she said. “That way.”
Frank laughed at her. He said, “Well, sister, why didn’t you say so earlier?”
He walked to the truck and let down the tailgate. Frank sat on the driver’s seat and pulled the truck forward. Angela did not protest and watched him with slight bemusement. He pushed Amy away, lifted the unconscious woman from the road, and carried her to the tailgate. Frank struggled to lift her limp body up and onto the truck bed. He shouted at Amy.
“Hey, girl,” he said. “Get up here and help.”
He watched as Amy staggered toward the truck, her steps wavered, and she held her jaw. She gave him a mean scowl as she crawled into the back of the truck and grabbed her mother under the arms, dragging her to the front of the bed.
“Next time you’ll think twice about hitting someone you don’t know, won’t you?”
Amy stared at him while she cradled her mother’s head in her lap.
“You didn’t have to hurt her,” she said.
“And the crazy bitch didn’t have to shoot me.” He touched the wet blood patches on his shirt. “Seems we’re even.”
“She thought you were going to hurt us,” Amy said. She spoke past tears.
“And I did.”
He pointed for Maggie to get in the back, but she waved for him to come closer to her. Frank knelt down in front of her, and she placed her hands on his cheeks. Maggie gently turned his head toward the van.
“Daddy’s still in there.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
Frank eased the truck forward to the van. When he opened the side door, he saw the man’s condition and felt it was a waste of effort.
“Come on, fella.” Frank motioned him to get out. “Guess I’m hauling you to the camp.”
“I can’t. My leg,” Evan said.
He pulled the blanket back to show him. Frank fought the desire to vomit. He made the man hop on his good leg to the truck while he held him up. Frank was upset and in a hurry as he shoved Evan onto the tailgate of the truck, despite the man’s screams of protest. He turned and knelt down in front of Maggie. He shouted into the girl’s ear.
“Are you happy now?”
She nodded her head, he lifted her up and put her into the bed of the truck. He pushed her toward her sister and slammed the tailgate, ignoring Evan thanking him. He got into the cab and drove, racing as fast as he could down the highway. As they went down the highway, Angela laughed and bumped her shoulder into his.
“You are going to be a great father one day,” she said. “You have such a way with kids.”
Frank looked at her. His face was pale and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead..
“You okay?”
“What? Yeah,” Frank said. He pressed his hand on the wound. “Just been shot, but other than that I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
Angela leaned forward to get a better view of his stomach. She saw a small hole to the left of his navel pouring a steady stream of blood. The smell made her gag. Frank glanced at her and shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t know,” he said. “I may not be going to the beach after all.”
“Hush,” Angela said. “Don’t talk like that.”
“It’d serve me right. I should have headed that way a mon
th ago.”
“Then you wouldn’t have met me,” she said. “I probably would have died had you not been there.”
He nodded his head and inhaled a breath through clenched teeth. The pain had worsened. He wondered if it would be his ending. The thought was pleasant enough. He smiled to himself as he considered the situation.
Such a shit ending to all of this. Guess it might as well be shitty, there ain’t nothing else in this fucked up world.
Frank pressed his hand over the hole in an attempt to stop the bleeding. After all he had been through, all that he had suffered, to have his life ended by a crazy woman who was only trying to protect her kids. It was funny in its own right. Somehow, he doubted he would see the humor in it when the wound became infected.
Before he noticed, they were at a set of gates. Frank looked out from the truck at the various signs and warnings as they drove closer. Barbed wire topped fences ran the roadway. He had to slalom around concrete barriers placed on the road top. Finally, he had to stop at a large iron beam blockade. A siren went off. The noise was deafening, he stopped the truck and held his fingers to his ears. It continued for several minutes. When it finished, it left a ringing echo inside their heads.
Frank and Angela stepped from the truck. He noticed a flashing light above a sign with small lettering on it. They approached it together, wary of where they stepped on the ground. Both looked at the large amount of broken glass and shell casings. He read the sign and looked at her.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he said. His eyes searched over hers. “I can turn around, we can be on the beach before sunrise tomorrow.”
She held up her arms.
“I’m sure, Frank, I need real medical attention. When I’m better, we can leave.”
He followed the instructions and pushed the red button three times. She nodded her head as he turned to look at her eyes again. His finger moved to the blue button and he pressed it once. They waited, nothing happened. He walked back to the truck and saw the disappointed faces. Frank shrugged his shoulders.
The Trace Trilogy (Book 1): The Wretched Page 17