From a few miles away, they heard automatic rifle fire, then silence descended again. “Someone else trying to get across,” he said. “Damn it, why don’t they listen?”
“Sounded like it came from Newport. We give them fair warning. Hey! Sir, what’s that?”
Granger motioned toward the bottom of one of the bridges, and Captain Taylor Burns pulled the binoculars back to his eyes. Focusing, he saw several people approaching the water on the opposite side of the river, three men and two women. Each of them carried a pack. They looked back and forth, then the black woman pointed into the distance and they all trekked toward some determined destination.
“There’s something … different about this bunch,” Burns said. “Look at the way they move. It’s organized. Like they have a goal or a set of plans.”
“I imagine their goal is to get on to this side of the river, where it’s safe, sir.”
“Maybe. My point is, they’re working together. You’ve seen the way people over there have been acting. They act alone, or in packs with a single leader barking orders, not in groups. Seems like even when they aren’t beasts, they’ve become very independent and wary, like they can’t trust anyone else. Most of these mugs that we’ve isolated act like they can’t see more than ten seconds into the future. They just do what they want. They see something they like, they steal it. Look there, see how that guy just helped that woman up onto that rock? That’s good manners. Common courtesy. I didn’t even think that existed anymore.”
“Looks like they’re making for one of those coal barges, sir. We’ve been seeing this all day. People using boats and rafts and such. We can’t let them get over here.”
“I know my orders, Granger. You don’t have to constantly remind me.”
The group was indeed stepping onto the deck of one of the barges that was docked near the bridge. Burns told Granger to report to him if they did anything suspicious; then he retired to his tent. He felt very tired.
He prayed the little group wouldn’t try to cross the river. They’d seemed like good people in the few minutes he’d observed them, very unlike anyone else he’d encountered from the infected area. He would hate to have to kill them.
43
SEPTEMBER 18, 5:50 P.M.
The five-block trip from the Bio-Gen building to the riverfront was more harrowing than Rick had thought it would be. Not because there were so many dangers in their path, but because of the eerie stillness that had clouded the city streets. Nothing moved as they weaved through the parked cars, climbing over them when necessary. Their voices echoed off the empty buildings, so they refrained from conversation while they traveled to the Serpentine Wall that separated Cincinnati proper from the Ohio River. Inside, Rick roiled with the urge to shout something, to break this unnatural quiet. He kept it under control, though, walking briskly south, watching from the corners of his eyes for any movement.
Chesya repeatedly turned her head from side to side, aware that she was being watched from the dark alleys between buildings. Occasionally, a noise emerged from the shadows, proof that there were still people out there. They just preferred the darkness of the side streets. This predilection for staying hidden frightened her more than their existence.
With a knife in each hand, she gave herself a mental pat on the back. She had proven herself to be a stronger woman than she thought she could be, given the circumstances. She knew her brothers wouldn’t have fared any better, and they had both been street thugs, wise to the ways of the world.
Andrei could barely control his delight at being set free after so long. He touched things as he walked: automobiles, street signs, fire hydrants that still trickled water. Raising his wet fingers to his mouth, he grinned as he sucked down the water from a cupped palm. His arms and legs would sometimes reach out and stretch without him being conscious of it, as he flexed muscles that had been imprisoned for too long. He’d had plenty of room in the cell, but he’d never been able to feel that he’d actually flexed. The world was a huge empty space again, and it contained more than enough room for his big body. Even the slight wind on his face was deeply satisfying. He only wished that since the rainstorm had passed, the clouds would part for the sun. He yearned to feel sunshine on his pale skin, to strip down to the waist and enjoy the prickling as he tanned a dark, chestnut brown, as he’d been in the old country.
Behind him, Cathy walked alongside Christian. Her hands kept flitting at him, worrying a speck of lint from his coat, running fingers through his long hair. All the time, she ignored the creepiness of the deserted streets, focusing completely on her son, even as she wondered where the crazies had gone. She felt she knew for the first time in her pampered life what it was to be a mother. This was what it meant to care about another person more than you’d ever cared about anything before. To feel as if you’d protect your child no matter what danger came at you. These intense emotions had been buried within her for so long, covered and encumbered by responsibilities of the house and the role of doting wife and mother. Losing nearly everything and burning the rest to the ground had seemed to disinter these feelings, and she embraced them. She didn’t ever want to let go of Christian’s hand. Grasping it tightly, she realized she wasn’t surprised by these overwhelming sensations. They had been there all along.
For his part, Christian knew that the clutchy-grabby woman needed him far more than he needed her. He was certainly happy to see her, but he wanted to brush her hands away, tell her to stop. Sighing, he realized he could do no such thing. She had proven she loved him, had taken a ridiculous risk to hunt him down. She could have imprisoned herself in her cozy million-dollar house and waited out this ordeal, but she hadn’t. And he loved her for it, knew that he had actually missed her since he’d run away from home. So he could endure a doting mother for a while longer, if it pleased her. At least it took her mind off the dangerous situation at hand.
When they reached the Serpentine Wall, they scanned the river for the barges. Pointing west, Rick said, “I see one over there, under that bridge.”
It was probably a half mile away from where they stood, the empty eye of the Sawyer Point amphitheater glaring at them. In fact, it was a procession of three barges, each loaded with a mountain of coal, and they were attached to a feeble-looking tugboat in the lead.
As they jogged toward it, Cathy asked, “That little boat pulls all that weight? It doesn’t seem possible.”
“Let’s pray that it is possible,” Chesya said. “We need to get those flat barges out to the middle of the river … and fast. It’s starting to get dark.”
A little stone stairway was carved into the bank of the river, and they walked down it until they stood on the silt that lined the rushing water. The river was a bit swollen from the deluge earlier that day, and the water seemed to turn in upon itself, rolling with some hidden mentality, an undertow, as though it planned to pull them down into its brown, dirty, polluted grasp.
The little band of survivors stepped across the soggy plywood plank, from the shore to the tugboat. In a few moments, they were all crowding the boat’s cabin.
Rick was amazed that everything had remained intact over the previous two nights. Apparently, the beasts hadn’t attempted to sail away on the river. This only reinforced Cathy’s claim that they were afraid of the water, that it posed a danger to them.
The bank of instruments in the tugboat seemed deceptively simple.
“That’s the speedometer,” Cathy said, “and that’s the ignition. I don’t see a key, though. That lever moves the boat forward or backward and determines your speed.”
“You can really drive this thing?” Chesya asked.
Cathy nodded. “I think so. It’s a lot like our little yacht we keep down in Florida.” She continued, pointing, “That’s the GPS system, a lot like what you have in your car.”
Chesya snorted. “Not in my car. I’m lucky to have a cassette player.”
“The radio!” Christian said, lunging forward. “It’s got a ship-to
-shore radio” He pulled the mic from its cradle and clicked it twice, flipping on the metal switch with his other hand. “Is there anyone out there who can hear me?” he asked, speaking into the mic. “This is an emergency. Is there anyone listening?”
“My God,” Chesya said. “If we can get the military on this thing … You think they’re monitoring this frequency?”
“I don’t doubt they’re listening to every frequency,” Christian answered, and he tried raising someone on the radio again.
They waited for a few moments as static crackled from the little speaker. Christian switched frequencies and tried again, only to be answered by the same pop of white noise.
Andrei said, “I do not think it works, no? Shouldn’t we hear, what, talking talking talking?”
Rick shrugged. “I’m outta my element.”
“What that mean?”
“It means I’ve never had enough cash to buy one of these floating babies, my Siberian friend. Probably never will.”
Chesya glanced up at him as Christian continued to scan various frequencies. She said, “I thought you did well for yourself? Bank robbing not pay as much as it used to?”
“I got one nerve left, Chesya. Don’t get on it.” He leaned back, sulking a bit. Listening to Christian’s unanswered bellows, he chewed the inside of his lip, then waved at Chesya.
“Sorry,” he said. “I’ve been having a chance to look back at my life, and I’m discovering it isn’t so exciting or wonderful. Not where I planned to be by now, at least.”
“You wanted a boat?”
“Oh yeah, baby,” he said with a Cheshire cat grin. “I wanted the boat and the house and the cars and the women. All the things that make up the stereotypical good life. Never quite made it there, though. Still one of the suffering middle class.”
“Just enough to get by?”
“I guess that’s right.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t be looking back,” she suggested. “Maybe it’s time to start looking forward. To the future.”
He laughed. “You think there’s gonna be anything to look forward to?”
“If we get through this night, I am going to take the hottest, longest bubble bath of my life. Then I think I’ll eat a huge meal—steak and a gigantic, heart-attack-inducing dessert. Something really sinful.”
“Sounds good. Mind if I join you?”
“For the bubble bath or the dinner?” As soon as she said the words, she couldn’t believe she’d done it.
“Well, well,” he said, a wolfish look overtaking his rugged features. “Is that an invitation?”
“Um … to dinner. Yes.”
“Tell you what,” he said. “We get through this night without becoming werewolf chow, and I’ll personally pay for everything and throw in a massage to boot.”
Blushing, she said, “Okay. It’s a deal.”
Rick smiled. He didn’t mention the money in his jacket. Chesya didn’t need to know he would use money ripped off from her own bank to pay for their date. He had enough stashed in various pockets to live fairly well for at least a year.
“Is very touching,” Andrei said. “Like Russian novel.”
“Oh, go to hell,” Rick said. He leaned out of the cabin of the little boat and looked toward the far shore. A small cluster of soldiers were pointing in their direction.
“They’ve spotted us,” he said. “See how all those guns are pointing at us now? Guess since they’re not shooting, they aren’t too worried, yet.”
Cathy eyed the darkening sky. “We’d better get out into the middle of the river. The clouds are making it get dark early.”
“Those look like storm clouds, too,” Rick said. “It’s gonna pour pretty soon.”
“Figures,” Chesya said. “Way our luck’s going, it’ll end up a hurricane.”
As if in answer, the bottoms of several clouds lit up from within, then boomed with thunder.
Cathy said, “I can drive this thing out there, but there’s no key.”
“The captain probably took it with him.”
“He’s dead by now,” Chesya predicted.
“Okay,” Rick said, “stand back.” With a screwdriver he found on the floor, he popped the ignition mechanism from the panel. “If it’s anything like a car, we’ll be business in another minute or two.”
“And if it isn’t like a car?” Christian asked, the radio microphone still in his hands.
“Well, maybe we won’t have to worry about surviving the rest of the night.”
Everyone except Andrei stepped outside the cabin. Christian even hopped over to the first barge of coal. It was only a few feet from the tugboat, but if Rick was going to cause an explosion, he wanted to be as far away as possible. “Come on,” he said, motioning to his mother and Chesya. They followed him. Andrei stayed put, peering into the cabin at Rick’s activities.
After an agonizing couple of minutes, they heard the sound of the engine catching. It putt-putted for a few seconds, then stopped. Rick’s cursing soon followed; then the engine chugged into life and remained on. The little group standing next to the mounds of coal gave a cheer and hopped back to the cabin, where they were soon patting Rick on the back.
“Who says crime doesn’t pay?” he asked, grinning widely.
The sky got darker, with little flashes of lightning every once in a while. The water became choppy, and Chesya felt her stomach give a small lurch.
Christian picked up the mic and began speaking into it again, trying different wavelengths. “Can anyone hear me? Mayday. Mayday.”
Cathy pushed forward, looking down at the controls. “Okay … this looks like the anchor.”
Flicking a switch, she nodded in satisfaction when a whirring sound began, followed by the clanking of a chain on the starboard side.
After a minute, they heard a thunk, and the grinding noise stopped; the anchor raised. The river churned, probably flooding someplace to the west, and suddenly the little boat veered toward the center of the river, rocked and carried by the current. The plywood plank dropped into the river and was swiftly carried off to the east.
“Can you handle this thing?” Rick asked.
“Let me try,” Cathy answered.
She pushed the lever forward, and the motor’s sound grew louder. Chesya nearly fell when the boat jerked forward, then stopped suddenly because of the weight of the barges pulling against the forward momentum. Thankfully, the coal’s weight slowed their movements on the river. Cathy pulled back a bit, and the boat inched forward.
“These things obviously weren’t meant to go very fast,” she said with an apologetic look. “Not like a yacht.”
Soon, they were positioned in the center of the river, choppy waves rushing by them on either side. Cathy pushed the button and lowered the anchor, stationing the boat and its two coal-laden barges almost exactly in the middle of the Ohio River, beneath the destroyed Brent Spence Bridge that had once connected Cincinnati to Covington, Kentucky.
Christian said, “You did it, Mom! Excellent!”
“I just hope she doesn’t break loose from the anchor in this storm,” Cathy said.
It was nearly dark now, and everyone turned to look at Andrei.
“What?” he asked, shrugging. Noticing the encroaching darkness, the big man said, “Oh. That.”
44
SEPTEMBER 18, 6:40 P.M.
The wind blew so strongly, Captain Taylor Burns struggled to maintain balance in his biohazard suit. The storm was gathering strength, and he prayed that it wouldn’t result in another deluge. His men found it hard enough to spot the creatures running across the destroyed bridges and leaping toward Kentucky in the daylight while it rained. If it happened during the night, who knew how many beasts could find their way into the safe zone?
A flash of lightning, still contained within the clouds, confirmed his darkest fears. He could feel the electricity in the air, could almost smell the ozone. This was going to be one humdinger of a T-storm, and there wasn’t a thing he could
do to pacify it.
He had tried to lie down in his tent, get a few minutes of shut-eye, but his thoughts had returned to the small band of people with their mysterious purpose. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and he was watching them again through his binoculars.
The little group boarded the tugboat and maneuvered it into the center of the river. The person piloting the vessel, a middle-aged woman, was doing rather well under the turbulent circumstances. He was astonished when they dropped anchor, stopping halfway across the water. He had already ordered a group of soldiers to gather in formation at the shoreline, their rifles pointed at the barges. They were still awaiting orders to shoot.
Scratching his head, Burns turned to Tom Granger. “Why’d they stop like that? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe their primary goal wasn’t crossing the river, sir.”
“Isn’t that what you would do in their position, Granger? Try to get across the river?”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but we don’t really know what their position might be. They’re definitely acting according to some strategy. Watch how they move together. These people have been companions for at least a while.”
“That big guy, the one in the overalls, he seems a little stand-offish.”
“Yeah, he’s a problem,” Granger chewed his lip. “Sir, what do we do? Should I instruct the men to open fire?”
Burns thought about it for a moment. If he let his men slaughter these people, would he be protecting the rest of the nation from their infiltration? Containing the situation within the city and its outlying areas had taken a hell of a lot of work, and the powers that resided in the Pentagon hadn’t minced words when they had ordered him to protect his side of the river. They had seemed eerily prepared for the situation, as though they’d suspected it would arise one day and had drawn up specific plans to deal with it. He wondered, not for the first time, how they had known werewolves would suddenly take over an entire city, how they had been so certain that there’d be no one left uninfected.
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