by Rounds, Mark
“She did, I think it’s a good idea,” said Chad.
“Well, Dave thinks he should go,” said Chris. “I think he might screw himself up worse.”
“How much stuff are we talking about?” asked Chad.
“A couple of crates of Mountain House food, maybe the same number of crates of number 10 cans of food. I also want to get some personal gear, you know, clothes, sleeping bag and such, and the press and the components of course. I figure it would take me fifteen minutes to gather things up and about the same to load up. If we are lucky, we can pick up my truck in the process. The tank is or was nearly full.”
“You and I could do that, maybe take Connor along to help,” said Chad.
“That’s what I thought, but Dave figures he needs to ride shotgun. He claims he’ll cover us from his truck bed.”
The discussion was cut short by slow motion crash down the ladder on Dave’s house followed by some language that proved Dave had been an enlisted Marine. Chad, Mary, and Chris leapt up from the table and were on the back deck in a flash. They could see Dave on the ground with Heather fussing over him. He was complaining but not moving much.
Chad, Amber, and Chris got out there fast. Mary ducked back into the house and grabbed a first aid kit, blankets, and a couple of two by fours left over from the barbecue project.
“What the hell happened,” asked Chad and he got over to where Dave was laying.
“Dammit, stupid mistake,” said Dave. He was panting and his face was pale. It was clear he was in significant pain. “I missed a rung on the ladder and couldn’t catch myself. I missed the grab on the lower rungs a couple times as I fell.”
“Anything broken?” asked Amber as she gently but professionally manipulated Dave’s hip. There was no grinding and the joint seemed solid.
“Ow! I don’t think so,” said Dave grimacing from the pain. “But I tried to roll and landed on my ass and that does hurt. Where did you learn to be a medic?”
“I was a paramedic with the fire department before I was a sheriff’s deputy,” said Amber with a shrug. “I guess chasing fires wasn’t exciting enough for me.”
About that time, Mary got there with supplies that she dropped in a heap and then began checking Dave out all over again. Raising two physical, energetic, kids that between them had eight visits to the Emergency Room had given her some insight into traumatic injuries. She also knew Dave.
“David Tippet,” said Mary in her stern Mom voice, “if you keep running up and down that ladder like a kid every day, you will reinjure that hip. I have no idea where to find an orthopedic surgeon to fix you up this time.”
“I have to agree, Mr. Tippet,” said Amber, “the joint feels ok, and nothing is broken but there is a click in there that they didn’t cover in my first responder course. I agree with Mary, if I could find an orthopedic surgeon right now, I’d suggest you make an appointment. Absent that, I am going to suggest a couple days bed rest.”
“But what if we get hit again?” asked Dave with alarm in his eyes, “and the trip to Chris’s apartment and some screwy ideas I have about some more aggressive defenses and …
“If we get hit, then you get your sorry ass out of bed,” interrupted Chad harshly, “and wade into them like you always would. You have been pushing yourself to the edge from the beginning, and don’t think we all aren’t grateful because we are. Without your foresight and the ton of work you’ve done, we all would be hungry and some of us would be dead. But you can’t keep it up and if your hip breaks or some other serious orthopedic complication comes up, we won’t have you when we need you and I figure it’s going to get worse before it gets better. So Chris, Amber, and I will make the run to Chris’s apartment. Everyone else will be on alert, armed, and watchful. When we get back, you can sketch out your ideas for better defenses and the rest of us can build them.”
Dave started to get up but Mary put her finger in the center of his chest and pushed him back.
“Dave, lie still please,” said Mary, her voice much softer now. “I have a blanket and a couple of two by fours. We can make a stretcher and get you back in the house. Then I am going to wake up Heather and have her sit on your chest if necessary to keep you in bed.”
“I don’t need a stretcher,” said Dave as he started to rise again.
“Dave, for me please, just humor her,” said Chad with a wink.
With only a little more complaining, they managed to get Dave on a stretcher and into his house before Heather, who had also been on the night shift got up.
“What happened?” Heather asked still groggy from bed.
“Dave here took a little fall,” said Chad trying for a light tone. “We need to keep him off his feet for a couple of days if we can. Perhaps we could enlist you help in that matter while we run some errands?”
“Right, I have duct tape and I am not afraid to use it,” said Heather with a smile.
“Why am I in equal parts excited and scared by that remark,” said Dave slyly.
“TMI! TMI! TMI!” said Amber as she grabbed Chris and headed for the door. She paused for a second and gave Dave a thumbs up and then was outside the door.
“Exit stage right,” said Chad as he and Mary left through the back door.
May 29th, Friday, 1:37 pm PDT.
The ride to Chris’s apartment had been calm but sobering. Chad had not been downtown since his last meeting at work, a just few days ago. He was thunderstruck at the change in just that short amount of time. Garbage hadn’t been picked up in a while now and it was mounding up. There were infected individuals openly pawing through the heaps looking for food. Many of the storefronts were either boarded up or had windows broken. There were only one or two businesses open and the people who were running them were armed and looked sullen.
When they got to Chris’s apartment complex, they could see that his truck and been broken into and burned.
“I guess somebody doesn’t like cops much,” said Chris in an effort to get a laugh.
“Seems that way,” said Amber as she scanned the area on the passenger side of the truck from the backseat.
They had taken Dave’s King Cab pickup so they could move anything of size as the next largest vehicle was Chad’s Subaru station wagon. Everyone was in the cab with the windows up because the air reeked of garbage, decaying meat, petroleum products, and other less recognizable but still disagreeable odors.
When they pulled up to the complex, they saw that there were infected in doorways and on the common areas. It was clear that the owners had abandoned the place at some point when the number of infected got too high.
“This is a classic at risk population,” said Chad trying to fill the silence. “It’s a nice complex, but there are folks who were out of work and couldn’t afford medical care, or dealing with the beginnings of a drug addiction. It just takes a few.”
“Where is your apartment?” said Amber trying to change the subject.
“Third floor at the end of the building across the common area,” said Chris pointing to a balcony window.
“Let me guess,” said Chad. “All the hallways are inside and that one door is the only access.”
“I can only say,” said Chris by way of apology, “that the price was right after my divorce. I never thought I’d have to fight my way into and out of it.”
“Nobody was thinking that way then,” said Amber. “We’ll get your stuff. There aren’t too many infected roaming around.”
“We will need some lights,” said Chris. “The halls are windowless.”
“I’ve got two bike helmets with lights,” said Chad offering Chris one. The plan was for Amber to wait in the truck and keep it from being damaged or jacked while they were loading Chris’s stuff.
“Aren’t we just stylin’,” said Chris as he put on Fiona’s bright pink bike helmet that he could only barely buckle the chin strap on. He had decided to carry his 870 pump shotgun. Amber would hold on to his AR-15. It was her decision to get out of the cab and
move around some so as not to make a target. Chad had his Mossberg Defender and everyone had a side arm.
They parked near the entry door that was closest to Chris’s apartment but across the drive that backed up to Chris’s carport with his burned out truck. Amber took cover in the corner between the two trucks scanned the area and nodded. Chad grabbed two of Dave’s old duffle bags to carry out whatever Chris decided they could use. The plan was that Chris would lead the way and Chad would watch their back. Since they figured everything was probably infected, both Chris and Chad wore latex gloves and a coverall over their clothes that they tucked into their boots. Mary had found surgical masks somewhere so they wore those as well.
Then when they had loaded, each of them would sling a duffle on their backs and they would exit in the same manner. They would take several trips if needed.
The plan sounded good on the drive up, but when they got to the door, they found it had been forced opened and then at some later time, barricaded shut with God only knew what was on the other side holding it closed. Chris’s key would turn the lock, but it had no effect and so the portal was completely jammed shut.
The door had a wooden veneer but it only took a couple of blows with Chad’s sledge hammer to find out it was a steel security door and nothing short of explosives was going to move it. The ringing sound on the door also attracted some looks from the infected so they stopped quickly and reevaluated the situation.
“There are some ground floor windows that have to be easier to break than that door,” said Chad as he put the sledge back in the truck. They walked along the ground floor windows and presently, on the back side of the building, they found one that had been broken open, likely by previous looters.
The apartment had been trashed. The cupboards were torn off the walls and dishes and crockery were everywhere in pieces. As they moved through the kitchen area through the living room, they saw that most of the furniture had originally been piled up against the window but had been pushed aside. There were splashes of blood, bits of clothing, and flesh on the sharp edges suggesting that the infected had broken in. When they glanced into the bedroom, they found the bloody remains of the one of the residents. It looked like he had been partially eaten. Thankfully, it also looked like it had happened after he had committed suicide with a plastic bag.
“Jesus,” said Chad struggling to hold his breath and his lunch, “how bad would it have to be to decide to kill yourself with a plastic bag?”
“I’ve seen worse,” said Chris. “Let’s keep moving ok, I don’t want to leave Amber outside alone for very long.
The door into the hall was open so they went out and turned right, into the direction of Chris’s apartment. The hall was completely unlighted and the only reflected light came from the door they had just opened. Their headlamps did little to lift the gloom. They discovered when their eyes had become accustomed to the dark, that the hall was not empty. There was shattered furniture, what looked to be human remains and stains that only fired the imagination. The smell was indescribably foul, and the surgical masks did little to dilute it.
When they got to Chris door, they found it had been kicked in. Apparently, the individual apartment doors were not as solid as the main entry door. His apartment had been ransacked but it had been done by people who were looking for something rather than infected looking for food. The articles in the refrigerator were spoiled but untouched. However, all Chris’s papers and books were upturned on the floor. As they made their way into the bedroom, Chris bent down to pick up a crumpled picture from a bent frame. Chad looked over and saw a younger version of Chris in his trooper’s uniform and a very pretty blond girl in a white wedding dress. A tear was working its way down Chris’s face, and then he carefully placed the picture back on the ground.
“It was another life,” said Chris to himself.
The bedroom had received the same treatment that the living room had with all of his clothes, books, and other belongings scattered around, clearly they had been searched rapidly but thoroughly. Chris looked quickly in the closet and pulled out a pair of hiking boots and flipped them into one of the duffle bags. He looked around for a second and then looked at Chad.
“I’d hoped to pick up some clothes and such, but this is worse than laundry day,” said Chris. “Let’s go see if there is anything left in the other room.”
Chapter 19
May 29th, Friday, 1:46 pm PDT.
Amber had been very brave when she suggested she wait with the truck while they went to Chris’s place. She would have liked to have seen how he lived, what kind of books he read, what sort of pictures he had on the wall, but the risk of someone taking advantage of an unguarded truck made that option untenable.
Now, with Chris and Chad in the building, she was more than a little spooked by the infected moving around the common area and the liquid, the almost unnatural quiet of the place. This was an urban environment and normally there were car sounds, the buzz of power lines, music and TV coming from various dwellings, and people talking, or shouting or even singing. Today, you could hear the breeze rustling the leaves of the carefully planted trees in the courtyard and the hum of insects. All manner of human sound was gone.
The other thing that was bothering Amber was that she was cold. This was late May in Kennewick and today was a typical bright sunny day. The temperature this afternoon was already above eighty and she still felt cold. Part of it was the low body fat she had left after recovering from the Plague and part of it was something else, she didn’t quite know what.
She laid Chris’s AR-15 across the hood, and while continuing to scan for threats, rubbed her hands against each other to stimulate some warmth. Had it not been as quiet as it was, she might have missed it, but Amber heard a small scrabbling sound from under Chris’s burned out truck. She looked down and saw a gaunt, thin hand reaching out from beneath the truck.
She took a couple of steps back and drew her pistol. Today she was carrying Dave’s Browning. The pistol delighted her with its balance and clean looks, but the stopping power of the 9mm cartridge was less than she would have hoped for. The hand was followed by an arm and then a head. Slowly emerging from beneath the truck, like some malformed butterfly, was the figure of a cadaverous and almost completely naked young woman. She must have been pretty before the plague, but was now grotesque in her skeletal emaciation. Then incredibly, the woman spoke.
“Youuuu … ,” croaked the young woman in a faint, husk of a voice. “You are one of them aren’t you?”
“What, me?” said a confused Amber as she backed up drawing her pistol.
“The visions said you would come,” said the woman hoarsely as she slowly got up from beneath the truck. “You know, don’t you?”
Amber’s mind flashed through the visions that still came at night sometimes. She blocked them out or made passionate, vigorous love to Chris to push them out of her mind but she did know, and the thought repulsed her.
“I am ready now,” said the woman, now standing before her. “Eat me!”
Amber emptied all thirteen rounds from the Browning magazine into the woman to silence her. She knew, and part of her wanted it and that scared her.
Amber quickly reloaded the pistol, holstered it and then moved as far away from the woman as possible and the pointed her rifle out, watching the surrounding area for other threats, listening and jumping at the slightest sound or motion.
“Please Chris, please be done soon,” said Amber to herself as she watched and waited and for the first time in her adult life prayed.
May 29th, Friday, 1:52 pm PDT.
Chris and Chad went around the corner into the second bedroom and opened the door.
“There’s my beauty,” said Chris looking at his Cabella’s Signature 50 gun safe made by Liberty. It was setting on a sheet of plywood to help distribute the weight. The door was badly beat up, as though someone had pounded on it rather indiscriminately with a sledge hammer. One of the corners had been pried on aggress
ively and one of the extensions of the three prong wheel that opened the door and been broken off. There was only a hole where the combination keypad used to go and it had been shot numerous times, as if whoever was trying to break into it got frustrated and fired it up.
Chris reached into his pocket and pulled out what had to be the keypad for the lock and began fitting it back into the hole it had originally been made for.
“I have two questions for you, Chris,” said Chad as he watched the door with his shotgun at high port. “First, how in the hell did you get this in your apartment? It must weigh eight hundred pounds or more.”
“Actually it’s a little over a thousand. It is amazing what six guys, a hand truck, a case of beer, and a loading dolly can do,” said Chris as he fished around inside the door for the leads with a pair of needle nose pliers. Apparently someone had tried to hot wire the door and had yanked the wires out when things didn’t go his way.
“There it is!” said Chris holding the wire between the jaws of his pliers. “What’s the second question?”
“This doesn’t look like a vandal came in here to screw stuff up,” said Chad. “They were looking for something. Who do you think did it?”
“If I had to guess,” said Chris training his light on the key pad, “given the fact that this doesn’t appear to be a random trashing but a search, I’d say Derek and his friends had a go at it this. It wasn’t a secret that Amber and I were interested in each other. Hell, it was probably the last bit of juicy office gossip at both the Highway Patrol substation and the Sherriff’s Office before things got really bad. When they started looking for her, this seemed like a good bet. I didn’t have pictures or anything lying around, but I wasn’t the world’s best housekeeper. I suspect they got receipts for flower deliveries or some such that might have triggered a deeper search.”
There was a metallic click that answered the code Chris entered into the keypad and as Chris swung the damage handle the door unlatched.