“You’re stupid, Tim, stupid, stupid, stupid.” She turns and starts to run up the stairs towards our room. “Did you forget they’re attracted to noise? Oh that’s right, you don’t give a shit, because you’ve got to prove a point.”
“If you’re worried about the noise then why are you shouting?” I grab her pistol from the grass and run up after her. I catch her on the second landing, out of breath from the fifty extra pounds strapped to my back. “Listen to me, one second, okay.” I prop myself up on the railing. “You’re right, we shouldn’t just be sitting here. But I told you before, I’m still trying to figure the best way out. If it were just you and me running light, I’d say the hell with it, let’s go right now. But we’ve got Momma to look after. We can’t just keep wandering, we need an end game, a target where we can settle down and try to wait this out. I need you to keep cool and I need you to be with me on this, Bethany.”
She grinds her teeth together as she glares down at the parking lot, at the sprawled body of the Rabid I just shot. “No more cellars.” She grabs the pistol from me, tucks it under her shirt, and continues up the stairs.
38
The moon is high and the curtains are pulled. We drink water from small paper cups.
Bethany and I sit across from each other at the wooden table situated near the only window in the room. Momma is on the other side sitting cross-legged on the bed, dribbling water down her chin and stabbing rather unsuccessfully at the food on her plate with a flimsy spork and a shaky hand.
“Where’d you two find the sausage? It’s good. It’s salty, but it’s good.” Momma nibbles the ends with a waning interest before letting the little brown Vienna roll back onto the plate.
“Cellar off the lobby, they had a couple cans of them. We got a bunch of other stuff too. It was a good haul, Momma.” I speak through mouthfuls of cold green beans and carrots. They taste like metal and are chewier than I’d prefer.
“We almost got killed for those things, they better taste good.” Bethany laughs, giving Momma a quick glance before staring back into her plate.
“There were three of them down there, Momma. They came at us, it got sticky, we put em’ down though.” I say, picking up the ball from my sister.
“What now? Three what? Sorry, I’m sort of foggy today.” Her eyelids are heavy. She’s lost weight. Her cheeks curve in like two half-moons meeting back to back. Someone could almost mistake her for one of them if it weren’t for the marginally clear eyes.
“Rabid, there were three Rabid. They were kids, all of them, younger though—seven to ten years old or somewhere around there.”
“Oh dear, how sad,” She sounds like a housewife taking in an evening news headline written somewhere on the other side of the globe.
“Yeah, Momma, it was pretty sad.” I finish the last piece of slimy sausage on my plate and crumple it up along with my cup before tossing it into the wastebasket by the door, and falling back in my uncomfortable wooden chair. Bethany sulks as she scoots canned meat and veggies in circles with one another, crisscrossing them like derby cars.
“Do you think there is a pharmacy nearby?” Momma looks at me as if she’s staring into the sun. Her cup of water, about a third full, spills against her thigh and soaks the sheet beneath her; she doesn’t stir.
“I don’t know, Momma, probably.”
“Would you be a dear and check tomorrow? I could really use some more medicine, please, Tim, please?”
“We’ll see tomorrow. I’ll try my best, okay?”
She picks up the cup and drops it in the middle of her plate, scooting it aside before falling back onto the pillows. “Such a good boy, Tim, such a good boy. Bethany too, my sweet girl, you tell her that her Momma loves her.”
I remove myself to the bathroom and lock the door. I will not let Bethany see me cry.
39
I hear the sharp hiss of the fighter jets skimming the rooftop of the hotel. There is a flash and a rumbling explosion. The building quakes and the walls flex inward just before the window shatters, sending tiny silver daggers of confetti careening across the room where they embed themselves in the wall above my head.
Bethany screams and rolls from the bed, landing beside me, scrambling to cover her head. Momma sits straight up, sweaty and pale from the shortage of her medicine; her eyes are still fighting sleep as she tries to grasp hold of the sudden sensory overload.
There are more jets, followed by another string of explosions. The building shakes us like ice cubes in an empty glass, as red and orange light fills the room through the evaporated window.
“Up, Momma, let’s go, we’ve got to get out of here.” I grab Bethany by the hand and pull her from the floor with me. I’m barely able to keep my balance as another explosion threatens to rip the ground from beneath my feet. “Momma, UP—NOW!” I rip the sheets from her and bury a fist in the mattress, startling her into action.
“Wha—what’s going on?” She slurs, as she stumbles from the bed and throws a robe over her blue tee shirt and jogging pants ensemble before shuffling around in search of her tennis shoes.
Bethany is wailing as she clutches me around the elbow, matching my every step with two of her own; fear hasn’t quite submitted to her kick in the groin. “Oh my God, oh my God, we’re going to die.”
“No, we’re not. Take this.” I hand her the pistol and flashlight. “I need you, sis, just like yesterday, okay? I need you strong.”
She nods her head deep, breathing in heavy, and setting her jaw tight.
I heft the duffle over my shoulder and retrieve my rifle from the table. Bethany is still holding onto me as I throw open the door. “Momma, let’s go.”
“My shoes, I can’t find my shoes.”
“Forget your shoes; you want to die over a pair of shoes? Grab your gun and let’s go.” The building rattles and moans.
“Here they are, hang on, hang on.”
The parking lot outside ignites in a ball of fire. The force of the blast takes me off my feet and sends Bethany sprawling face first into the doorframe. I’m back up in seconds and out the door running across the walkway with Bethany in tow.
“Momma, we can’t leave her.”
“She’ll be right behind us, don’t worry about her.”
There is a crater half the size of a football field where our van used to be. Rolling balls of flame bloom over the Dallas skyline, towers of thick black smoke stand proxy for the fallen buildings.
The front half of the hotel is gone, the lobby now a pile of rubble burning with the intensity of a freshly stoked bonfire. The heat wave hits us hard as we approach the stairwell. “Tim, I don’t see Momma.”
“She’ll be here, alright. Right now we have to get downstairs; it’s not safe up here.”
“But…what about the van?”
“We’re going to have to find another one. Questions later, sis, I need you to go, just, go, go, go.” I press her forward down the first step. She keeps resisting, turning around me to see if she can spot Momma coming up behind us.
A helicopter flies in low overhead. I can feel the pounding of the rotors in my chest. There are two large missile boxes hanging off either side and a belly mounted machine gun at the center of it all. It surfs out over the city and hovers amid the chaos. The missiles leave white trails of smoke, as they are released one after the other down on to the head of some invisible target. The missile impacts are bright and loud and blend with the symphony of destruction.
We round the bottom of the stairs and start across the parking lot. The only illumination comes from the moon overhead, the flashlight in Bethany’s hand, and the thousands of tiny fires now burning around us.
“I’m going back for Momma.”
I wrap an arm across her chest and push her back in front of me. “No, you’re not.”
“You can’t stop me, you’re not dad. I said I’m going back.”
“Bethany, don’t test me.” I tighten my grip. “I’m not losing you over her bullshit.”
/>
“Momma!”
At first, I think she’s calling for help. It’s only when I turn my head that I realize Momma has made it out of the room and downstairs. She’s got both shoes on, but seems to have forgotten her rifle.
“Stay here for a second, sis, I need to talk to her.” I meet her halfway. We are standing with the center of the crater off to my left; the acrid smell of smoke let off from the burning debris, waters my eyes and causes me to retreat back a few steps. “Enough of your bullshit, you’re going to get Bethany killed, so enough. Do you understand?”
She wobbles to keep her footing and wraps her arms tight across her belly, staring through me with glassy eyes. “So dramatic, Tim, you’re so dramatic. When did you get so dramatic? You’ve always been eccentric, and I always blamed myself for that, but dramatic? That’s got to be something from your father’s side.”
I charge her, jabbing my finger between her eyes. “You don’t get to talk about dad. You don’t get to use him against me ever.”
“Oh look at you, big man. You think he’d be proud of you, talking to your Momma this way?”
“Look at you, you think he’d be proud? Abandoning your kids to get high, you’re just a pathetic junkie.” I dodge her drunken swing. She almost topples over with the momentum. “Pathetic, you’re pathetic. Keep up or die, doesn’t matter to me anymore.”
“Bastard, that’s what you are, Tim, a no good bastard. No son of mine would ever treat his Momma this way!”
Her words bounce across my back like poison licked arrow heads. I flinch at every one, but keep moving nonetheless. I don’t try to stop Bethany this time as she rushes past me to Momma’s aid. After all, moms and their daughters, it’d be cruel of me to try to keep them apart; can’t imagine I could if I tried.
I take the flashlight from Bethany and lead the way down Greenville Avenue as the world burns around us. Buildings and storefronts have been cut in half, cars obliterated and flipped onto their roofs, power poles splintered and sprinkled across the terrain like matchsticks.
“What the hell?” Bethany mutters behind me with an arm wrapped around Momma’s waist to help keep her steady.
“It’s the military, it’s gotta be. They’re fighting back, about time.” I respond, scanning the area in front of us for any sign of the Rabid.
“They destroyed every car in the city. They almost killed us. I’m so happy they’re here.” Bethany says.
“It wasn’t like they were intentionally trying to kill us. Can you really blame them for thinking no ones left, after what we’ve seen?”
Her response is cut short by the sound of engines and the wash of headlights.
“Get behind me.” I scoop both of them behind my back and raise my rifle. There are two large Humvees coming right for us. They stop a few yards out and the lead vehicle ignites a roof mounted flood light, illuminating us like stage performers. Behind the flood light is the silhouette of a machine gun emplacement and a man sitting on the trigger, ready to shred us where we stand.
All four doors on the lead vehicle spring open and a voice echoes from the darkness. “We are the United States Military. Drop the guns on the ground and put your hands in the air or you will be fired upon.”
“Do it, Tim.” Bethany squeaks, her pistol clanging against the pavement behind me.
I follow her lead, dropping the duffel bag along with my rifle and reaching for the sky as if there is a prize waiting there for me.
“We will come to you. Do not make any sudden movements or we will fire upon you.”
“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, get on with it.” I’m starting to get a little pissed at the power play.
“Tim, I’m scared.” Bethany whispers in my ear.
“If they wanted us dead they’d have just shot us. They’re just making sure we’re not Rabid. We’re going to be fine, just let me talk it out.”
There are four of them. Three stare down the sights of high caliber rifles, covering their leader as he conducts the approach. He’s a barrel chested black man with broad shoulders wearing tan fatigues. He has his thumbs tucked in the front of his gun belt as he calmly strolls up to me and stops, the tips of his black combat boots practically touching the tips of my brown cowboys. He observes me quietly, propping a hand beneath my chin and turning my head from side to side.
“I’m Captain Stiles, Army Special Forces.”
“Timmy Two-Step, or Tim, I’m with my sister and momma.”
“Well, you can string together sentences and your eyes aren’t all fucked up, so it’s safe to say you three aren’t infected.” He lets loose of my chin, takes a step back, and drops his thumbs back into his belt.
“No sir, we’ve killed a few here and there though.”
“As have we, the light show was on us.”
“Yeah, thanks for that, you almost blew our asses off,” Bethany says.
“We didn’t think there were any civilians left in this sector. You can put your hands down now.” He signals his men to lower their guns. “Where’d you get the hardware?” He dips his head towards my prostate M4.
“Got that one from an uncle, he’s dead now. The ones in the bag we picked up along the way.”
“I see, and you mind telling me where it is you folks are headed?”
“Haven’t really figured that out yet; we thought we might have some family in the city originally. Now I’m just trying to decide the best way out of here, don’t know whether to go west or south, or maybe southwest, pretty lost if I’m being honest. We’re just trying to get where the shit is the thinnest.”
“You’re better off south.”
“You seem pretty sure of that.”
“Less city, less people, less of those things; it’s not rocket science, kid. Also, yes, I am speaking as someone that just came through there. Head towards Waco, hell, go towards the gulf, just make sure you avoid Austin, San Antonio, and Houston; go between, don’t go through.”
“How long until all this is over, until we can go back home?”
Stiles rattles off some military jargon into a shoulder mounted radio, which I’m unable to make out over the roaring of the nearby flames and the bone jarring hiss of the fighter jets that continue to swim laps overhead. “Your guess is as good as ours.”
“Wait, what do you mean? You’re the military. You’re fighting these bastards. Surely you know the situation. The government has a plan right, to get us back to normal?”
He laughs. I’m pretty sure I hear the three men standing behind him chuckle as well. “Kid, the situation is, we’re fucked. This thing has gone international. The government, what's left of it, is in some bunker, a location even I don’t know. Our latest estimates show the infected outnumber us three to one. There is no plan, at least not yet. ”
“But…what…what the hell is all this then?”
“We’re not waging war, we’re carving a road. My commander is with a team setting up a permanent HQ on the other side of the city. I’ve got a VIP back there that I’ve been ordered to deliver ASAP.”
“So there is no plan to take back the cities, to find a cure, nothing? This is just…it is what it is? This is unbelievable.” I stomp at the blacktop like a child. “Of all the…you know I never would’ve…what the fuck, I mean with the hundreds of billions of dollars the taxpaying citizens have poured into the military, you’d think that when we actually needed something from you guys, you’d actually be there. But no, instead you don’t even have a plan!” I walk to the curb with my hands dug into my hips, cursing under my breath.
“Tim, stop it, calm down.” Bethany attempts to reason with me.
“Yeah, Tim, listen to your sister. We’ve lost people too, a lot of people. Men here, including me, have lost family. Despite what you’ve seen here tonight, we’re working with a skeleton crew. I’m taking orders, and I trust those orders to be in the best interest of this country. Now I just learned from my commander that we’re to stop here for the night, while they confirm the roads ar
e clear enough to pass. You’re welcome to make camp and ride in with us tomorrow. We’ll see if we can suit you up with some fresh supplies and transport so you and your family can get back on the road. Is that acceptable to you?”
I feel indifferent to the generous offer. I thought I’d prepared myself for the possibility of there being no end game, oblivious to the fact that there was a small flame of hope burning in some corner of my soul that hadn’t yet been snuffed out by the horrors of this world. Stiles found it and killed it with a merciless blow. “Yeah, sure.”
“Alright men, circle the wagons. We bed here for the night. We roll out at 0700.”
40
Three of the soldiers sit around a small cook fire, their rifles flung over their shoulders, laughing and scraping chow from small plastic bowls while three more stand guard. They’ve created a barrier on either side of us using the Humvees. They have a man on each mounted machine gun. They are on a constant pivot, searching the shadows with a spotlight and a hot barrel, ready to eviscerate.
The VIP Stiles had mentioned sits with his hands cuffed in front of him, his back supported by a utility pole. He’s petite man with a long nose, curly hair, and black rimmed spectacles. His sport coat is torn at the shoulders and elbows, and the striped oxford shirt underneath appears to be missing more than a few buttons. He shovels food into his mouth, carelessly licking his fingers in between bites, pausing only to swallow and check his surroundings like a dog that’s scared of losing its bowl before attaining complete gratification.
Momma, Bethany, and me, sit around a heat lamp provided to us by the good old United States military, it looks like every other heat lamp I’ve ever seen, except, predictably, it’s painted camouflage green.
Stiles approaches with three plates. He stoops down to present them, his timeworn knees giving off crackles and pops. “Bacon and tomato sandwiches; we hit a grocery store on the way in. There’s no mayonnaise I’m afraid, that aisle had been cleared.”
The Rabid (Book 1) Page 24