by Jason Brant
Lance lay on the towels, staring at the black that filled the cabin of the armored truck.
They’d both fallen asleep as soon as they’d finished. Cass had barely rolled off him when he slipped away, getting the most restful sleep he could remember having in a long time, heat be damned. Even the occasional shriek or thud against the side of the vehicle couldn’t keep him awake for more than a few seconds.
He woke up twenty minutes ago, but hadn’t moved yet. The sound of her shallow breaths kept him from getting up. He wanted to let her sleep as long as he could. Having a safe place to spend the night was a commodity they might not have again.
Their activities of a few hours ago still confused him. The last thing he’d expected was her to jump him like that. Even if he wasn’t particularly clear on the why of it, he sure as hell enjoyed the act. He hadn’t felt this alive in years—decades even.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, he couldn’t help but smile.
Odd that it took the collapse of civilization for him to find some form of contentment. Though he’d been alive for the past fifteen years, he hadn’t actually lived. He’d been on the run for how many days now? He couldn’t remember.
His depression hadn’t reared its head since he’d left his apartment. All of his failures meant nothing now. No one would judge him based on his sparse resume or his off-the-rack suit.
Liz wasn’t around to put him down or make him feel worse about himself than he already did. Cheating spouses meant little right now. Corporations, downsizing, and layoffs were a thing of the past.
In the midst of the apocalypse, Lance York was finally discovering himself.
“How fucked up am I?”
“Hmm?” Cass rolled over beside him, her arms brushing against his as she stretched them out. “You say something?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t talk to yourself when I’m sleeping beside you then.”
Lance chuckled in the darkness.
That was the other thing about Cass—her snark made him laugh. He’d never really been around a woman like her before. To say that she was the polar opposite of Liz would be an understatement. Liz’s formality and straightforward behavior got on his nerves too often for him to even consider joking around with her.
Cass was different. She stayed on his ass constantly, not letting anything he said slide.
And she completely rocked his world last night.
“So.” Lance sat up, feeling around for his clothes.
“What?” He heard her doing the same.
“What exactly was that last night?”
“That was us getting it on.”
“No kidding.”
She sighed. “Just spit it out, dumbass. What do you really want to ask me?”
His mouth popped open, but no words came out.
What do I want to know, exactly? That question, as simple as it should have been, felt difficult to answer.
“Why?” he blurted. “Why did you do that?”
“You didn’t seem to mind last night. After I got you to shut up, anyway.”
He found his pants and slid them on. “Hell no, I didn’t mind. After six months, I wouldn’t have minded anything.”
Her movements stopped. “Are you saying that it wasn’t that good?”
So, he thought. She still has some insecurities behind that tough-chick façade.
“Are you kidding me? My legs are still shaking, for Christ’s sake.”
She continued getting dressed. “What then?”
“It was just unexpected, that’s all. It was great, but I never would have thought that would happen.”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Cass turned the dome light on. She already had her clothing on and was in the process of looping her belt around her waist.
“That’s it? You couldn’t sleep?”
She polished off the last of her water, tossing the bottle into the front corner. “I don’t know. You’re acting like a woman. We’re probably going to die soon—why not enjoy ourselves when the opportunity presents itself?”
Lance thought about it for a moment. Why should he worry about the meanings behind her actions? They had sex. Big deal.
“Fair enough,” he said.
“We need to find a pharmacy or a Wal-Mart or something.” She lifted her axe from the floor and patted the handle.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t need to get pregnant right now. Why do you think?”
Lance put his Rambo knife in its sheath. The machete stayed in his hand. When they opened the door, he wanted to be ready for whatever waited outside.
“Oh, yeah. You don’t have to worry about that. My boys aren’t the best swimmers.”
She clopped him on the shoulder. “See? What was a problem in another life is a blessing in this new one. You’re no loser. You’re a king now.” She considered him for a second. “Well, maybe you’re more like my jester, but you get the point.”
Lance moved to the door, kneeling in front of the handle. “Just because you’re a monumental lay, doesn’t mean I’m going to take your shit. Ok, it probably does, but still.”
Cass chuckled.
The door opened silently.
Lance poked his head through, scanning the small parking lot behind the bank.
Nothing.
The sun hid behind a row of trees, the morning still young. Fresh, cool air washed over him.
“Looks clear,” he said, climbing out.
A wide, red area dried on the concrete. Streaks and bare footprints led away from it, disappearing into a small area of grass beside the bank’s drive through. Lance pushed away the images of the man’s face as he stabbed him.
Cass hopped to the ground behind him. They went around either side of the truck, spotting each other through the windows in the front doors as they inspected the cabin. Nothing appeared smashed or out of place.
Lance spotted a few daywalkers stumbling across a lawn on the other side of the street. Everything else was calm, quiet.
“If we ever had a chance to get to the stadium, this is it.” Lance met Cass at the front of the truck, both of them inspecting the neighborhood.
“How far away are we?” Cass asked.
“I don’t know—a mile or two I would say.”
“That’s a lot of ground to cover on foot, considering we’re swarmed by those bastards every time we step outside.”
Lance fished the keys to the armored truck from his pocket. “We could try and drive this beast most of the way.”
“There’s a lot of traffic jams from here to there.”
“If we get caught, we’ll just wait in the cab until things clear out. It’s better than going on foot.”
The inside of the truck reeked of death.
Cass climbed onto the passenger seat, frowning at the red smears on the fabric of the bench seat.
The truck’s engine rolled over, but didn’t start when Lance keyed the ignition. He tried it again, getting the same result.
“Shit, we might have killed the battery by using the light in the back.”
“Give it another shot.” Cass held her axe across her lap, her eyes scanning the street in front of them.
Lance cranked it again, the engine rumbling to life.
The fuel needle indicated half a tank—more than enough to make the trip.
Cass flipped the AC on, giving Lance a toothy grin. “I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this.”
“Let’s see if anyone is still out there.” Lance pushed the radio dial in, powering it on. He rolled through the FM stations, hearing nothing but static.
“Try the AM.”
Lance switched it over and started the process again, going back down the radio band. They hit pay dirt halfway through.
“−beautiful morning, Pittsburgh. The sun is up, the breeze is blowing, and your flesh-eating neighbors are still trying to break in and kill you!”
“I’m going to go out on a limb
and say this guy isn’t a professional radio jockey.” Cass turned the volume up.
“I guess I should get on with the news, eh? Well, downtown is dead. Literally.” The man spoke with a Pittsburgh drawl, downtown sounding more like dahntahn. “But, I can see PNC Park and Heinz Field from my super-secret location and there is a helluva lot of military activity down there. So someone is still around, fighting the good fight. Of course, they’re all a part of the NWO and they planted the goddamn Xavier virus in the first place, so take that for what you will.”
Lance rolled his eyes. “He’s a loon.”
“How many of you are even listening, at this point? Is there anyone out there at all, or are you too busy hiding in the dark, waiting to come out at night and take a bite out of my ass? Who the hell knows? I’m just gonna keep on yappin’. So, I spent the entire night on the horn with a guy out of Ireland. His handle is Connor, but I don’t know if that’s his real name or not. Hell, he could be a part of the cover up, though that wouldn’t make any sense. Everyone’s dead—there’s no point in covering shit up now, right? Boy, I’m sure swearing a lot over the air. It’s a good thing the FCC is gone or they’d fine me to kingdom come.”
“With our luck, he’s going to recite ‘Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television’.” Lance put the truck into gear, shaking his head at the man on the radio.
“George Carlin used to say that—”
“See?” Lance couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the broadcaster.
Cass turned it down a little. “Hopefully he can give us some more information when he’s done saying every swear word he can think of.”
Lance backed the vehicle up, the bumper dislodging from the brick structure that housed the pneumatic tubes. Parts of the construction fell to the ground in broken pieces, brown dust clouding above them.
They eased into the street, maintaining fifteen miles an hour.
Smoke rose into the sky from various parts of the city. The Gulf Tower was consumed in fire, a black pyre of soot ascending into the clouds.
The truck weaved around wrecked cars and fallen telephone poles. They ran over shredded clothes, luggage, and abandoned, blunt weapons.
“I still can’t believe how fast it all fell apart,” Cass said.
Cool air came from the vents. They pointed them at their bodies and faces, enjoying the chilling effect.
A woman, several days into the infection, ran through a row of shrubs lining the sidewalk and charged the truck. She smashed into Lance’s door at full speed, her head bouncing off the reinforced steel. She fell into the street in a jumble of flailing limbs and hair, blood pouring from her nose.
“I love this truck,” Lance said, watching in his side-mirror as the woman got back to her feet and gave chase.
“Sorry about that tangent, folks. I got a little carried away. Anyway… where was I? Oh yeah, Connor from Ireland. They’re just as screwed as we are, unfortunately. The European Union completely collapsed. They barely put up a fight from what Connor says. The Russians and Swedes are having more luck, apparently. Their geographical advantages are helping them survive. I’ll tell you what, when the Russian winter kicks in, these vampire assholes are going to have a tough time. Let’s see you run through six feet of snow, ya bastards.”
Cass smacked Lance’s arm. “Vampires. Told ya.”
“Yeah, yeah. Let me know when you see Dracula.”
“Dick.”
“Bitch.”
In his peripheral vision, Lance saw her smile.
He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Somehow, in the midst of everything, Lance had found a woman to spend what would probably be his final days with. The feeling was odd, foreign.
Yet it was there. He’d known her for a whole two days, yet he already cared for her.
Did she feel the same way? Did it even matter?
Lance didn’t know and didn’t particularly care.
Though the things Lance had seen and done still haunted him, the weight of it all was lessened, alleviated because he had someone to share the horrors with.
All while he was still legally married, though the idea of contracts and courts meant nothing anymore.
“Is the stadium on this side of the river?” Cass asked. “I’ve never been there and I’m having trouble remembering exactly where it is.”
“You’ve never been to Heinz Field?”
“Nah—I don’t like football.”
Lance glared at her. “I’m two seconds shy of throwing your ass out of this truck. I bleed black and gold.”
“Maybe we can go to a game together this fall. Oh wait, the entire team is dead. Dumbass.”
“Life without the Steelers. That might be the worst thought I’ve had since this happened.”
Cass shook her head. “I don’t understand men.”
“Good, because we don’t understand you either. Besides, earlier you said that the NFL is always talking about concussions. Now you’re saying that you don’t even like football.”
“The asshole I used to date watched football all the time. He got pissed if I didn’t sit beside him for every game.”
“Sounds like a real charmer.”
“−giant mushroom cloud. That’s right, folks. Word is that a nuclear power plant went boom somewhere in the Midwest. I’ve heard Illinois and Kentucky, but people are contradicting each other. So if you see a three-headed vampire out there, go the other way. You don’t need to have your gonads radiated. Hell no.”
They hit a relatively clear stretch of road and Lance accelerated, hitting thirty-five miles per hour. The number of daywalkers increased as they drove.
Lance watched them meander about, talking to themselves or chasing the truck, their minds eroding by the minute.
Two men, their clothes ripped, muscles starting to bulge, veins popping, ran down the road toward the armored vehicle. Lance eased off the gas a bit, but didn’t swerve, knowing that crashing into the median would cause more damage than hitting the two infected.
The truck’s grill smashed into them, sending their bodies toppling to the road. The tires ran over them, causing a small bump in the ride for Lance and Cass. Neither said anything as they drove away from the destroyed, twitching bodies.
An eighteen-wheeler blocked the road ahead, its trailer parked sideways across the lanes. The backend parked on the lawn of a brick home. Lance slowed down, squinting against the glare on the windshield. Cass turned the radio off and leaned forward, pointing through the glass.
“See that?”
“The big rig? Kind of hard to miss.”
“No, dumbass. The guy sitting in the cab, aiming a rifle through the window.
Lance lowered the visor from the ceiling, giving him better visibility. When they were less than fifty yards from the truck, he spotted the man. He wore a camouflage baseball cap, the rest of his face obscured by the scope of the rifle he looked through.
“I don’t like the look of this.”
Another man stepped out from behind the backend of the trailer, a shotgun resting on his shoulder. He held a hand up for Lance to stop.
“I’m with you—this can’t be good. Keep your window up, no matter what.” Lance stopped the truck, but kept it in gear. “Can this glass stop a rifle round? I know the shotgun can’t pierce it, but that rifle worries me.”
“Don’t know. My subscription to Guns & Ammo ran out last year.”
Lance would have given her a pithy comeback if he wasn’t so focused on the shotgun-toting man approaching his side of the truck.
The man stopped beside the driver’s side door. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans with a tear over the thigh, the white of his pocket showing through the denim. A two-week beard covered his cheeks and chin.
He moved his free hand in a circular motion, wanting Lance to put his window down.
Lance shook his head.
The bearded man scratched his shaggy neck. He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart.
“I think yo
u can crack the window,” Cass said. “Unless Grizzly Adams can curve bullets, we should be safe.”
“Be ready to duck. I’m going to punch the gas if things go south. Get out of the line of fire of that rifle.”
“Just stay cool.”
“Yeah.” Lance found the power window button and depressed it for a split second. The window lowered a fraction of an inch. He gave it one more tap, enough to stick one finger through.
Lance looked down at the man. “What’s going on?”
“Where are you headed?” the man asked.
“The stadium. Trying to get out of the city.”
The rifle cracked ahead, startling Lance. His head jerked around, looking for the point of impact on the truck, seeing none. “You OK, Cass?”
“Fine. What the hell is he shooting at?”
The man by the truck cackled, his laugh high and annoying. “Larry ain’t shootin’ at yinz.” He bobbed his head toward the back of the truck.
Lance looked in his mirror and spotted the body of a daywalker in the street, blood pooling around its ventilated head.
“Larry’s a good shot,” Lance said.
“Damn straight. You’d do best to remember that.”
“Why are you stopping us?” Lance didn’t like sitting in the open like this. They were in an armored truck, but enough of those things would make it difficult for them to get going again if they had to.
“How many you got with you?”
“Just the two of us.”
“Step on out of the truck.”
“Why are you stopping us?” Lance shifted in his seat, anxiety building. What was the play here?
“I said to get out of the truck. The woman too.”
“We aren’t moving unless you tell me what you want.”
The man sighed. “Yo, Larry! Get Ralph up here. Tell him we’ve got a couple of troublemakers up here.”
Lance barely held a gasp at bay.
Cass saw his body go rigid. “What?”
He turned his head toward her an inch and talked out of the side of his mouth. “It might be a coincidence, but one of the men who wanted to kill me in the restaurant was named Ralph. He was the leader of a big militia that ran around killing people when all this started. They wore camo too.”
“Shit.” Cass grabbed her buckled seatbelt and tugged on it, making sure it was secure.
“Sir, we just want to pass. We don’t have a problem with you.” Lance hoped he could talk his way out of this before Ralph arrived. If he was the man Lance thought him to be, the shit would hit the fan as soon as Ralph saw him.
“Won’t be a problem if you get out of the truck.” The man lowered the shotgun from his shoulder, aiming it at the window. “Now get the fuck out. You think you can just drive through our neighborhood and not pay the toll?”
“What’s the toll?” Lance spotted movement in the side mirror and glanced at it, trying not to wince when he saw ten camouflaged men sneaking up on the back of the truck.
They were surrounded by armed assholes.
“Whatever we want it to be. Don’t be stupid now. There’s a whole lot of us and just two of you. Get on out and I promise that you won’t be hurt.”
I guess their whole group wasn’t killed after all. Too bad.
Lance knew from his past experience with these marauders, that getting out of the truck would probably be the signature on their death sentences.
Feet appeared on the other side of the big rig, visible under the trailer, striding up the street in long steps. The person walked toward the back, appearing from behind the rear bumper and doors.
Ralph.
He made it three steps beyond the truck when he spotted Lance through the windshield, his face snarling in anger.
Chapter 21