The Last Mile Trilogy

by Jacqueline Druga

  “Robi!” Jeb yelled. “Watch out!”

  As soon as her eyes returned to the road, she saw what Jeb why Jeb had yelled.

  One of them stood, dead center, in the road. Robi didn’t touch her brakes or even swerve; she slammed right into him at high speed.

  Wham!

  He banged on the hood, rolled up and over the windshield then over the roof.

  “Nice,” Jeb smiled.

  “Mom?” Nick spoke with worry

  When Robi peered into the mirror to respond to Nick she saw the man in the back window.

  “Fuck,” Robi called out then swerved the car to try to shake him loose.

  No good.

  “What?” Jeb asked.

  They heard a clomping on the roof.

  “Fuck,” Jeb commented. “He’s still alive?’

  Crash!

  Through the windshield on Robi’s side, came a hand. It seared through and grabbed onto Robi’s face. The Humvee swerved as she struggled.

  Jeb reached over and tried to not only free Robi but also control the car. The Humvee was all over the road, left to right. Screams from the back seat filled the Humvee as Jeb struggled and finally managed to free Robi’s face. The hand still reached in for her as the man slid off the roof and plopped onto the hood.

  “Slide down,” Jeb instructed to Robi. “Scoot down low!”

  “I won’t be able to see,” Robi argued as she dodged the reaching hand.

  “Can you see now?”

  Robi scooted down, driving the Humvee like a little old lady peering through the steering wheel.

  Jeb grabbed his rifle and engaged the chamber. Grabbing the door handle, he flung it open He held onto the bar above the door, swung out of the car, and stood on the edge of the vehicle. With one arm, he raised his rifle, aiming at the assailant that arched back for another strike at the windshield.

  One shot exploded his head and the man flew off the Humvee.

  Jeb returned inside.

  “Robi,” Manny called over the radio. “Come in.”

  Jeb replied, “What’s up?”

  “You guys OK?” Manny asked.

  “Fine,” Jeb said out of breath.

  “We lost them. They aren’t following us anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “But we need to stop, and soon. First place you see,” Manny said, “Bishop is bleeding bad and we need to do something.”

  <><><><>

  If there was one motel in the world that Robi hated it was the Days Inn. Although she claimed not to be racist, she often stated her reason for hating that chain was that every single one she’d ever stayed in was owned by some foreigner—and not well kept.

  The motel was the first they encountered once they reached the safety zone. A two-story structure with outside entrances into each room. Mas gave them the safety thumbs up and Jeb sought out the keys for the doors.

  Luckily, the hotel hadn’t advanced into the card key phase or they would have been out of luck.

  101 adjoined with room 102, and Robi claimed those rooms. She could place Bishop in one and Martha within ear shot in the other.

  Bishop groaned in pain, his leg seeping blood. Jeb ripped the shower curtain from the stall and laid it on the bed per Robi’s instructions, and they laid Bishop on that.

  She ripped open his pant leg and poured saline solution over the wound.

  “Hold still,” she instructed. “Where are the rest of my med supplies? Tate!”

  Tate flew in. “Sorry, they were in the back.” He dropped the case on the bed next to Robi.

  Robi flipped open the box. “Bishop, you’re gonna have to calm down.” She looked up to Jeb and Tate. “He has to be knocked out.” She returned to the med case.

  Jeb turned to Tate. “You or me?”

  “You probably have a better chance,” Tate said. “Go on.”

  Curiously, Robi glanced at them. “What are you …” Before she could say anything else, Jeb had cold cocked Bishop rendering him unconscious. “What was that for?” she asked.

  Jeb answered, “You said to knock him out.”

  She showed him the syringe. “This would have done it.”

  “Sorry,” Jeb said.

  “Sorry,” Tate echoed.

  Robi grunted. “This bite is bad. I have to start an antibiotic IV. Tate, in the cooler I have an IV bag, can you get it?”

  “Sure thing,” Tate said and rushed out.

  Robi prepped the sutures and reached for Bishop’s wound.

  “Will he die?” Jeb asked.

  “Not from the wound,” Robi said. “But he could from infection.” She began to suture him. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” She looked up to an unconscious Bishop, then back to her work. “This is a nightmare.”

  <><><><>

  It had quieted down. By midnight, everyone had pretty much claimed a room. With Jeb’s help, after she had stitched Bishop, they cleaned him and attached an IV using duct tape to hang the bag.

  Bishop wasn’t waking. That was fine, he needed rest. Robi had just checked his vital signs for the third time, when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” she called out.

  Jeb walked in with a cup. “I brought you coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And scrabble.” he held up the box.

  “Why?”

  “Do you plan on leaving this room?”

  “Probably not. I want to monitor him.”

  “Then I’d like to hang out with you,” Jeb said.

  “I’d like that.”

  “We can talk about him while he sleeps.”

  Robi chuckled.

  Jeb snapped his finger. “Speaking of sleeping, come here.” He waved her to the door that adjoined the rooms.

  “What?” Robi asked.

  Jeb opened the door. “Take a peek.”

  Robi did. A crib was set up center of that room and Martha was sound asleep in there. “You found a crib?”

  “Yeah, now she’s good. We can hear her if she cries.” Jeb shut the door.

  “What about Nick?”

  “He’s bunking with Tate.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But I must warn you, Tate is drinking.”

  “Christ.” Robi walked back to the bed.

  “How is he doing?”

  “Fine. His vitals are strong. He’s not fevered, which is good. Something like this enters the blood stream quickly. So his body isn’t infected … yet.”

  Bishop moaned softly. His head went from left to right, and then he sprang upright calling out, “No!”

  Robi rushed to his side. “Bishop.”

  Breathing heavily, Bishop looked around, shifting his eyes in a nervous manner from Robi to Jeb.

  “Hey,” she spoke softly. “Calm down. You’re OK.”

  “I … I … I … I was bit,” Bishop said, panicked.

  “Yeah, you were. But you’re fine. Hold still, OK, so the IV doesn’t come out.”

  Bishop’s eyes trailed the line of fluids going into his arm. “I was bit.”

  Robi nodded.

  “I was bit.”

  Jeb huffed. “I think we fuckin’ established that.”

  After snapping a harsh look Jeb’s way, Robi returned to Bishop. “I stitched you. You’re fine.”

  Bishop shook his head. “I know what it means. Robi …” He swallowed. “Robi, you have to shoot me.”

  “What?” She laughed at the ridiculous notion of it. “Shoot you?”

  “In the head. Please.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Desperate, Bishop grabbed her arm, speaking in a whisper, “I know. I know. I was bit. I’ve seen the movies. You’ve seen the movies. You know I’ll become one of them. I don’t want to become one of them. Shoot me. Please.”

  “Bishop …”

  “Jeb,” Bishop said. “Please. You know it. I’m doomed. Shoot me. Don’t let me be one of them.”

  Jeb bobbed his head for a se
cond, and then shrugged. “OK.” He pulled out his revolver and aimed.

  “No!” Robi blocked him. “What are you doing? Are you nuts?”

  “He wants shot,” Jeb said.

  “And you’re gonna just shoot him?” Robi asked.

  “Well … yeah.”

  “Well … no,” she shouted. “No.”

  Jeb put the revolver away. “You heard him. And he has a point, if he was bit by a zombie, he’s becoming a zombie.”

  Robi bit her lip. “You yourself said they weren’t zombies.”

  Again, Jeb shrugged.

  “Insane.” Robi faced Bishop. “Look, Bishop. You’re not even fevered. You’re not showing any movie signs of being a zombie.”

  Jeb added, “But those were movies, fiction. How accurate are they? He can become one in a snap without even dying first.”

  Robi growled, “And he could not become one. Understand? Like you said, movies, fiction, we don’t know.” She looked at Bishop. “We don’t know. Personally, I find it pretty insulting to Jeb that he has to shoot you before you become dangerous. Don’t you think he can handle you if it happens?”

  “But I don’t want it to happen.”

  “Tough,” Robi said. “I refuse to shoot you just because you think you might become one.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Robi called out, “Come in.”

  “Mom?” Nick opened the door slightly. “We were having a meeting. I was wondering if we could see you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Robi said. “Jeb, can you stay with Bishop?”

  “Absolutely.” Jeb stepped closer to the bed.

  “And for God’s sake,” Robi warned as she approached the door, “don’t you dare shoot him. I mean it.”

  “I won’t shoot him,” Jeb replied, annoyed. “God.”

  “This is insane. Now excuse me while I go deal with issues that aren’t insane,” she said as she walked out.

  <><><><>

  “This is the most ridiculous conversation I have ever had,” Robi said, standing before Nick, Tate, Greek, Manny and Doc. “You people want to … kill Bishop.”

  No one replied or said anything.

  Robi paced before them. “Do you hear yourselves? You want to shoot another human being ….”

  “In the head,” Manny said.

  “Oh, yes, in the head.” Robi tossed out her hands. “All because you think he’s going to be a zombie.”

  Greek nodded. “We saw movies—Night of the Living Dead.”

  “I don’t care!” Robi blasted. “Are you out of your goddamn minds? You are basing this decision on a horror flick. Come on.”

  Tate raised his hand like a schoolboy. “In our defense …”

  “You have no defense. You hear me. None of you.” Robi scolded.

  “Mom, you gonna tell me it didn’t cross your mind?” Nick asked. “You aren’t worried he might be a zombie.”

  Robi nodded once. “Yes, it crossed my mind and is on my mind that it might happen. But it never crossed my mind to shoot him in the head … at least …” she stammered, “at least until he was dead.”

  <><><><>

  By the time Robi returned, Bishop was fast asleep. Tucked in, covers tight, he looked peaceful. Robi checked his pulse to be safe.

  “I hit him with morphine,” Jeb said, cleaning his gun. “He was in pain.”

  “Oh, Ok, thanks.”

  “He also was whining. I can’t take that shit.”

  “How compassionate.” Robi pulled up a chair next to Jeb.

  “So, what was the meeting about?”

  “They want to kill Bishop.”

  Jeb raised his eyes. “Seriously?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s insane.”

  “You think?” Robi shook her head. “Weren’t you gonna do it a little bit ago.”

  “Nah.” He fluttered his lips. “I wouldn’t do it. I was just messing with Bishop. I think it’s fucked up he believes he’s gonna be one of them.”

  “You don’t think?”

  “Nope. They’re not zombies,” Jeb stated matter of fact. “Was Bob dead?”

  “Not entirely. He had a pulse.”

  “Zombies are dead.” Jeb shrugged. “So the movies say. No, they were hit with some nerve agent, that’s all. Nerve agents are chemical, not biological. Therefore, not contagious. They could have gnawed his legs off and he wouldn’t be one of them. If he dies, he dies, he isn’t coming back. Trust me.”

  Robi sighed out.

  “Don’t even tell me you were worried?”

  “About him being a zombie?” Robi asked. “Uh, yeah.”

  Jeb shook his head with a chuckle. “And I thought you were a realist.”

  “You’re right.” Robi stood, lifted the edge of the cover and started to examine the wound on Bishop’s leg. “You’re right. But … on the outside fictional chance that it could happen …”

  “Robi.”

  “No hear me out. Let’s do shifts. OK. We’ll both stay here and watch him. How’s that?” She placed the bandage back on.

  “And ...if he becomes one we’ll just pop him off.”

  Robi nodded.

  “Sounds good.” Jeb put his gun away. “But it isn’t gonna happen. Neither is asleep. I’m not tired. Scrabble?”

  “You know what? That sounds good. Break out the board.”

  “And the Jack?” Jeb lifted the bottle.

  “Oh, yeah, and the Jack.” Robi smiled. She checked on Bishop’s IV, felt his head for any temperature change and then settled into what she believed, was a long night of games.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  July 6th

  Mas had been working on something all night. He claimed it would be a new way to try to find survivors if they hooked up with anyone from Mas’ land. When he handed Greek a Frosted Flake cereal box, Manny knew it was time to do something else.

  At five in the morning, everything was quiet. Mas was awake, he never really seemed to sleep. Greek was awake as well. There was no noise or sign of the others and, since Mas was ‘at ease’ Manny felt ‘at ease’ as well about the task he wanted to do.

  They had rested for the night in a decent place. More visible as the sun started to rise. It was one of those highway stops. The kind you see as you sail down the highway. A town pretty much centered on chain hotels, restaurants, gas station and truck stops. Signs for the business were perched on huge poles, preceded by billboards stating their location was miles ahead.

  All things they didn’t see in the black of a moonless, cloudy night.

  But the clear amber dawn sky brought the vision to Manny as he went outside for air.

  He knew he had to get it.

  From the balcony, he spotted it. Most of it was a rear view, so Manny could only hope the rest was intact. But he’d have to get a closer look to see. Rifle in hand, he dragged himself from the hotel in an early morning walk down about a quarter of a mile.

  “Oh, yes,” he spoke to himself. “You are a beauty.”

  When he neared it, he saw the damage was minimal, and he chuckled in amusement. “I know this band. Get out, this is awesome.” Manny ran his hand across the country band name that was painted on the side of the huge, deluxe tour bus.

  It was obvious that the bus had barely been moving when the drop occurred: it rolled to a stop against a guardrail, and there it ran out of gas.

  Manny examined the front. No damage, a scratch, but the headlights weren’t broken. It would need a battery and some gas. But before he did any of that, he had to check out the inside.

  Like everyone else, the bus driver was dust. His clothes still on the seat. The bus smelled, like rotten food and Manny saw why. Take out containers were sprawled out everywhere, along with the clothing of those who had rode the bus.

  The bus was, as Manny expected, decked out. There were bus style seats for only a couple rows, then a longer oak table, graced the left side, he supposed for dining. A short couch, small fridge, and microwave comp
leted the right side. With the amused chuckle of a kid, he kept going to the back in the bus.

  A bathroom and bunk beds were located in the rear of the bus. It couldn’t be more perfect. Manny wanted it. A bus would be handy if they found survivors, and their supplies would fit in single Humvee and in the storage section of the bus.

  “This will work,” Manny said then lifted his radio. “Greek, come in. Hey, I’m good. I’m fine. It’s awesome. Gonna clean it, service it and get it ready before I present it to the queen. How are the Frosted Flakes?” He chuckled at the grumble Greek gave him. “OK, I’ll radio if I need anything. Over.” He put his radio in his pocket, checked out the time, and began to work.

  <><><><>

  Bishop never sported a fever and slept through the night. Robi had just checked him and removed the IV bag. She knew it had to be early; the sun barely peeked through the creases of the curtains.

  ‘Flattered’ was the world that caught her attention. Tiles still spelled it out on the Scrabble Board which sat on the edge of the bed. She folded the board, dumped the tiles, and did a quick ‘put away’ of the game.

  Feet propped on the edge of the bed, Jeb slept in the chair. Robi honestly tried to step over them, but bumped into his legs, smashing them down and causing Jeb to wake.

  “Sorry,” she whispered.

  “Is he dead?” Jeb asked.

  “No.” She shook her head, turned, and nearly tripped over the empty bottle of Jack. She raised it. “You’re going to make me an alcoholic yet.”

  “Please.” Jeb scoffed and stood up. “I’m hitting the bathroom.”

  Robi nodded and moved toward the drapes. She opened the outer ones slightly to let in some daylight. As she parted them, she jumped at the sight of Mas standing there. She waved. He waved and walked to the door.

  Robi opened it. “Morning, Mas.”

  “Bright be it.” Mas stated and handed Robi a cup. “Espresso, like you said Nick. Fix machine.” He pointed upward. “Sun by power it.”

  “Wow. No way.” Robi accepted the cup. “A latte?”

  “Milk.” Mas tilted his hand back and forth. “Powder. Best not, but have we all.”

  “I understand. Did you want to come in?’