She should have known better.
They were still fifty yards from the exit when a Ford pickup bounced across the esplanade that separated the inbound traffic from the outbound. Erica slammed on the brakes as the truck veered toward them and watched as an obviously terrified red-headed woman drove past, eyes pleading for help she knew they couldn’t provide. There were half a dozen crazies standing in the bed of the truck, hooting and beating their hands on the top of the cab.
But that wasn’t the worst of it.
As she went past, Erica could see a teenage girl in the cab with the woman. The woman was trying her best to fend off the lunges from the teen, whose hair was the same tint of red as the driver’s. She was bound to have been the driver’s daughter, and that made it even more terrifying when the girl latched on to the older woman’s hand with her teeth and bit down. That was all Erica saw as the pickup sped past.
“What the hell is going on?” The voice from behind startled Erica. She had been so intent on the poor woman’s plight that she had momentarily forgotten about her passenger. She glanced briefly back at him, and saw that he was watching the woman too, as she drove past. She realized he wasn’t really expecting an answer, so she bit her lip and shook her head. She breathed a sigh of relief as they finally reached the exit and she anticipated leaving the insanity of the shopping mall.
A blaring horn sounded to her right and she slammed her foot on the brake, throwing her passenger, as well as several boxes of personal belongings, toward the front seat as another pickup truck sped past. At first, she thought the driver was trying to flee the chaos. But as he flew past she saw the now familiar maniacal grin on his face. He laughed and pounded incessantly on the horn as he passed, plowing unheeding through a small crowd of people just before he rammed headlong into an oncoming SUV. The rear wheels of both vehicles lifted momentarily into the air as the forward momentum was transferred to the only other direction physically available. Blood splattered the side window, and the driver of the SUV hung halfway through the shattered windshield. Erica thought she could see him moving as a torrent of steam from the crumpled radiators obscured her view. Her mind reeled as she tried to make some sort of sense of this, and something clicked.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!” She reached forward and shut off the air conditioner, slapping the dash vents closed as she did so.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s gas. It’s got to be some kind of gas.”
“What?”
“Maybe a terrorist attack, or a lab accident.” She looked back at him.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“There must be something in the air that’s driving people crazy. It’s the only explanation that makes any kind of sense.”
He scrambled over the console between the seats and dropped into the passenger’s seat, reaching for the dash vents that were out of Erica’s reach. “You think this will keep it out?”
“I don’t know. You have a better idea?”
He licked his lips, looking nervous for the first time since she’d met him. Of course, she’d met him less than ten minutes ago. She looked back outside at the mayhem in the street. What she saw out there made the parking lot seem tame by comparison. Masses of people chased one another through the street, weaving between too many multi-car pileups to count. They formed a living, amorphous mass, flowing between vehicles, congregating in frantic groups as they found a victim, hooting, screeching, kicking. There were hundreds of them, and as they hunted, for there was no other word for what they were doing, they emitted a constant, horrifying, frenetic tittering.
Erica looked once more at the wreck they had just witnessed, distracted by the mayhem in the streets. The SUV had caught fire, and as flames began to spread throughout the vehicle, someone emerged from the passenger door. To her utter horror, she saw it was a man with a burning jacket, and though she wasn’t able to hear him over the cacophony of screaming and laughter, she could tell that he wasn’t one of the laughing horde. There was no maniacal rictus of insanity on his face, only pain and panic as he flailed about trying to get his jacket off. Suddenly, the horn of the SUV began blaring, startling her. At first, she thought the driver might also still be alive, but his body still hung lifelessly halfway through the windshield. She realized then that the fire must have shorted the wiring, causing the horn to sound. It had the unfortunate side effect of attracting the attention of everyone in the area. And everyone in the area was Erica, her passenger, and the mob of crazed killers in the street. Almost as one, they turned toward the SUV. It was only a split second from seeing the SUV, to seeing the screaming man in the burning jacket.
The mob rushed him, and he was immediately buried beneath their mass. “Holy shit.” Pistol Pete’s voice was quiet, his words more an expression of fear and dismay than a curse. Erica had no answer. And as bad as that was, she found things could always get worse. As she watched, a pair of revelers emerged from the mob, each brandishing a torch. “Where did they get torches?”
“Those aren’t torches.”
“What? Of course they…” That was when she noticed the lower halves of the burning brands were flopping loosely as the men cavorted about—and they had fingers. One of them ran to another wrecked vehicle and tossed the arm in the back seat, starting yet another car burning. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“No time for that, ma’am.” He directed her attention back to the main mob that was beginning to disperse. A few of them ran madly through the street, their clothing ablaze from where they had gotten too close to the SUV, or to the now smoldering carcass that lay in the middle of a shiny pool that reflected the light from the streetlights. Looking where he pointed, Erica saw several individuals split off from the rest of the mob, hooting and laughing as they noticed the van’s headlights pointing at them, apparently attracted as moths might be. As they ran, they attracted the attention of others, and in short order, there was another mob rushing at the van. “Time to go, lady. We gotta move it!”
Erica gulped and put the van back in gear, spinning the wheels as she pulled onto the street proper and drove away from the mayhem. They had come out of the parking lot by way of the back exit, and as they raced along the back road behind the mall, Erica was thankful for the relatively empty street ahead. Turning right at the next corner, she saw another empty street. But as they approached the next, another car raced past the intersection. There was someone clinging to the top of the car, grinning madly as he reached in through an opened window and yanked on the driver’s hair. They flew past the intersection and out of sight before Erica could see how their particular scenario ended, but as they reached the corner, she saw that there were plenty of other shows to watch.
This was the main thoroughfare. At this point, they were less than a mile from Interstate 10, and from there, it was a matter of about ten more miles to the safety of Uncle J’s. All that stood between them and the ranch were several blocks of high-end strip centers, independent department stores, and a hotel. And of course, all the people who raced about in the parking lots of these temples to the gods of commerce, chasing or being chased.
Squealing tires drew her attention to an old Ford pickup that screeched through the parking lot of a drug store across the street, hitting at least four people. At this distance, Erica couldn’t tell if the driver was laughing or not. In all honesty, she was past the point of caring. She spun the wheel to the right and pulled onto the main road toward the ranch. There were several wrecks in the street ahead, but she thought she should be able to weave her way through them easily enough.
Her passenger turned to look out the back. “Gotta move it, lady. We’re attracting attention.”
Erica didn’t bother looking to see where their pursuers were. After what she’d already seen, it was incentive enough to know they were coming. The first wreck blocked the outbound side of the street, but she was able to get the van onto the grassy median, making it with minimal scraping of the underc
arriage. She dropped back to the concrete, eyeing the next obstacle. It was a four-car pileup, one car burned, upside down atop the others. She briefly wondered how it had happened, then recalled the crazed driver of the pickup as he intentionally drove headlong into the SUV. Burning fuel pooled across the median ahead, burning the box hedges and decorative landscaping that grew there. Her only option was to cross the median again, driving into the opposite lane. It didn’t seem to matter, though. There was no oncoming traffic to worry about. She slowed to hop the curb once more, and as she did, she heard a thump, followed by insane cackling as one of the crazies slapped his hands against the side window in the back.
Her passenger raised his pistol and aimed somewhere behind them. “There’s only one right now, but in about thirty seconds, we’re gonna have a whole crowd of ‘em on us again. Can you get us out of here?” She was about to reply when blinding lights from the parking lot across the street distracted her. She raised her hand to block some of the glare and the blaring of a horn quickly grew louder.
“Shit! Hold on to something!” Erica screamed to be heard over the sound of the horn and cut the wheel to the right. She stomped the gas pedal to the floor, fervently praying that she would be able to get them out of the path of the four-wheeled missile. The van bounced off the median and back to the street, lurching forward as the tires found purchase on concrete. Erica glanced in the mirror and nearly cried in frustration when she realized it wasn’t going to be enough. “Hang on!”
She noted with a certain level of detachment that it was the same Ford pickup she’d seen in the parking lot just a few minutes earlier. Then it slammed into the rear quarter panel and spun them around. She saw stars as her head was thrown back by the force of the airbag, and boxes dumped their contents, turning them into painful projectiles that flew about the interior of the van. Erica heard her passenger curse before something hit her head. She struggled for a second, trying desperately to hold on to consciousness, and though she could hear various sounds around her, her brain couldn’t seem to process them. Her eyes refused to stay focused, and she caught the scent of hot radiator fluid and steam just before things went dark.
Chapter 52
Linton Bowers
This Might Get Hairy
Michelle made a sound of disgust as they rounded the corner and saw the fire ahead. By this time, they had been on the road for more than an hour, but had hardly made any progress on their trip at all. It was dark now, and the fire lit the surrounding area like a beacon. “Another wreck.”
Linton sighed. “Emmet, you got another route ready?” He saw a light come on in the back seat as his friend called up a map on his smartphone for the eighth time.
After a minute, he leaned over the seat and showed Linton and Michelle his phone. “Guys, it looks like it just isn’t going to happen this way. We’ve tried every route available to get to a clear spot on I-10. Between the craziness on the actual freeway, and all the wrecks blocking the feeder, I don’t see this route working for us.”
Linton pulled out the Bee Hive Manual and turned to the maps in the back. He turned on a pocket flash and checked his notes. He’d plotted a variety of routes to the bunker, but all of them depended on somehow getting north to I-10. So far, they hadn’t even come close. “Dammit!” He slammed the manual closed and took a deep breath to keep his frustration in check. “All right. Either of you have any suggestions?”
“I do.” Michelle took the manual from him and opened to the Houston area map. She shined her own flashlight at the page, studied it for a moment, then pointed to a location on the I-45 feeder. “We’re about here, right?”
Emmet and Linton looked. “That’s where my phone says we are,” Emmet agreed.
She traced a path northward along the freeway to where it intersected with Houston’s 610 loop. “And your plan was for us to go north to 610, ride the east loop north to I-10?”
Linton nodded. “Or possibly pass the 610 loop and go straight up to where 45 intersects I-10, or any of the smaller roads that lead up to ten.”
Michelle nodded. “What if we head south?” She traced a route with her finger. “We could go back to Sam Houston Parkway, cut over to 146, and take it up to I-10. That gets us there without having to go close to Houston.”
Linton looked at the route she proposed. “That’s quite a bit out of our way, babe.”
“But doesn’t it have a better chance of having less traffic?”
He nodded. “Yeah, I guess it does. What do you think, Emmet?”
Emmet shook his head. “I’m not from around here. I’m just along for the ride. I’ll go with whatever you guys decide.”
Linton looked at the map again, willing something to pop out at him that didn’t involve sacrificing what little ground they had gained. But the more he looked at it, the more it appeared his wife was right. “All right. Let me find a place to turn around.”
Emmet cleared his throat. “There is one little detail I feel obligated to point out.” He tapped the filter on his gas mask. “These filters don’t last forever. How many replacements do we have?”
Linton pointed to a bag in the back seat across from Emmet. “Each filter should last about four hours, and we have two replacements for each of us. That should give us plenty of time to get to the bunker.”
“We just passed the Monroe underpass a minute ago,” Michelle offered. “We can turn around and get over to the southbound side there.”
Linton nodded, did an illegal three-point turn in the feeder, and headed back the way they had come. Minutes later, they were southbound on the other side of the freeway. Weaving their way through the insane maze of wreckage that Houston’s streets had become, Linton slowed even more. “Is that what I think it is?” He was afraid to come to a full stop, for fear that some of the infected people outside would try to climb aboard the truck again, but he slowed as much as he felt was safe as they approached the conflagration ahead. Emmet leaned over the back seat and peered through the windshield, and Michelle leaned forward as well.
It was Michelle who spoke first. “Is it a passenger jet?”
Emmet cursed. “Could we have any worse luck? I mean come on! Aren’t we having a hard enough time? God decides to drop a damned plane in the road?”
As they got closer, Linton could see that it was, indeed, a small passenger airliner. They had just pushed their way through another pileup at the last exit ramp a mile back, but the feeder ahead was completely blocked by the smoldering fuselage. The jet had crashed into the building across from the freeway, and the wreckage was scattered across the feeder and partially onto the interstate itself. What was left of the building, as well as scattered pieces of the aircraft, sputtered with flames, and Linton knew it was likely his imagination, but he thought he could actually smell the stench of burning jet fuel, plastic, and flesh. It wasn’t likely though, that he would be able to smell much through the filter on his mask.
“Must have been coming in to Hobby.”
Linton nodded agreement. They were only a few miles from the airport. Michelle was undoubtedly correct.
He slowed even more, trying to buy time for them to figure out what to do. Before he could ask Emmet to check the map, Michelle pointed to the left. “There’s an entrance ramp. Maybe we can get past on the freeway?”
They had noticed that much of the traffic on the freeway had come to a standstill. Linton figured most of the infected had already wrecked their vehicles. But he had also seen many of them wandering about on foot in the middle of the freeway. He didn’t relish the idea of trying to weave between the maze of accidents and people, and now burning airplane wreckage, that was scattered about the interstate. But he didn’t see any other way to get past.
He slapped his hand against the steering wheel.
“Calm down, brother. It ain’t like we have any sort of choice in the matter. We just gotta keep moving forward.”
Emmet was right, and Linton took a calming breath. “Yeah.” He steered for the on ramp
. “There’s a lot of people wandering around on the freeway. Keep your doors locked and weapons drawn. This might get hairy.”
“Like it hasn’t been already?”
“Point taken.” He pulled up the ramp and onto the freeway.
Chapter 53
Ross Mayfield
Communication
The man had stopped screaming by the time Ross began to regain control of his body. Weak and shaky, Ross pushed himself to his hands and knees. He was still wobbly, but he crawled over to his bed and climbed onto it. He grabbed weakly at his cell phone and hit 9-1-1. The phone rang twice before rolling into a fast busy signal. Looking at the screen, he saw a “circuits are busy” message.
What the hell? He tried again, with the same result. The only time he’d ever seen that message was in 2005. His dad had been overseas when Katrina had decimated the Gulf Coast. Ross and his mother had been at home in Mobile, and she’d wanted to call and let Dad know they were all right. But no matter how many times she tried, she’d been unable to get through. Ross recalled being amused that she seemed to take the lack of cell service as a personal affront.
He realized now, though, how helpless she must have felt to be in the midst of an emergency and unable to contact anyone. And that triggered his realization that there was something momentous going on—something much larger than two deaths in the quad outside. He recalled Erica’s message, “…there’s an epidemic or something. They’re saying that millions are dead.” He thought about the man outside. He kept tight rein on his emotions this time, and when he was sure he could handle it, he stood slowly and went back to the window. Sure enough, the light from the gas lamps in the quad revealed two bodies lying in the grass.
A small group of students stood laughing at the dorm across the lawn, throwing rocks through windows. Could this be the epidemic? Something that drove people crazy? He needed more information. Walking away from the window, he brought up the call log on his phone again. Erica’s number was at the top, and he hit the call-back icon. Once more, a fast busy was the only sound he heard.
Chucklers (Book 1): Laughter is Contagious Page 23