Frank wondered if God had his hand in any of this?
He wiped man away once before with the Great Flood. Maybe this is his new way of culling us Homo sapiens? He has every right – he created us, for dust we are and dust we will return.
He found it hard to believe that God would use this kind of method to achieve His objective. There were other ways, simpler ways. Less violent ways.
Maybe we deserve the violence and suffering? We have certainly caused enough as a species. Maybe this is payback? We ignored the warning of the Great Flood, maybe this one will be more compelling as an example for future generations. If any survive?
Frank adjusted his back against the bare stone wall. They had no blankets or pillows, nothing to make the nights sleep comfortable. The horse blankets were left in the barn during their quick exit.
Over the top of his bible he watched Tierra sat holding her son, while rocking him back and forth while softy singing a lullaby.
There is hope. There are still children to carry on the species. To carry hope forward. To teach a new way of life, one where we respect all life, not destroy it.
He turned the soft pages to the account of Noah and the Flood, and started reading about the greedy, and sexual deviant angels that were tossed down to earth by their father.
If he didn’t even spare his own angelic children, then what chance do we have?
124
Troy, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Troy sat in the cab of the truck. He put the photo of his dead wife back behind the steering wheel so he could stare at it. He didn’t want to be around the others at the moment. He wanted peace and quiet. His mind was racing with a hundred things at once.
Too many were dying around him. If the bodies he had seen over the last two days were piled up, he would he able to climb to his wife in heaven.
Dried blood stained the dashboard and seats. Rain ran through the cracked windshield and down into the passenger footwell.
Troy stared at his hands. Somehow the blood had made its way under his fingernails, and between the wrinkles on his hands. He didn’t know how.
He ignored the water, the blood, and the smell of death, and the emptiness around him. After hearing the animalistic screams of the infected, the silence was a blessing. It was a sound, that once you heard it – heard what humans were capable of – the sound would always be with you, haunting your dreams and every waking moment; if you lived that long.
He used to enjoy the company of others. He was once a social person. Then everything changed when Sonja died. He locked himself away and became a hermit. Friends would reach out to him, trying to get him to open the door or answer his phone. He locked himself away with a bottle and his dark thoughts. However, he realized that his actions would make his wife sad as she looked down from above and witnessed his spiral into oblivion.
Over time he changed his ways. It took patience’s and self-control to get back to the land of the living. Everything was just getting back on track when the world spiraled into madness.
When everything went crazy, and the horde surrounded the truck, he thought he was going to meet his wife. He had made peace with the fact he was about to die. However, he had survived. A part of him was grateful to get more time. Another part of him was sad he had to stay in this sick world, surrounded by death and suffering, when he could be with his loving wife instead.
One person can only stand so much, he reasoned.
He would hang on. Keep going for as long as possible. He was not the type to give up. If his time came, he would except it. But he wasn’t going without a fight.
“Sonja would be proud,” he muttered as he touched the photo. “Wouldn’t you my love?” He wiped a hand down over his face. “When the time comes you will be waiting for me,” he said with absolute certainty. “Waiting for me with a smile on your beautiful, angelic face.”
He took the photo and gently kissed it.
“I miss you so much.”
He placed it in an inside pocket, to save it from the rain, then he jumped from the cab. He would offer to take the second watch on the jeeps powerful machinegun.
125
Terrance, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Terrance sat to the side of the gas station, just under the overhanging cover, so the rain just missed him. He sat staring at the two fresh graves.
“Two young lives, taken far too early,” he mumbled.
The rain dripped just out of reach, as the ground a few meters away was pounded by the downpour. The pile of mud on each grave was slowly being washed down. Terrance watched the mud slowly slide away from the two oval mounds. He stared at the two crosses made from broken shelves, held together by fishing line. The priest had wrote their names with his black pen on the crosspiece.
The machinegun lay across Terrance’s lap. He didn’t grip the weapon, he casually draped his muscular arms over it.
He sat staring and reflecting on everything that has happened in the last few days, since they decided to leave their apartment block in New York. They left because they believed it was too dangerous to stay.
“If only we knew,” he muttered with a drawn out sigh.
So much has transpired in just two days. His mind was still trying to catch up with it all.
When they all first climbed into the container he thought it would be a simple matter of driving from A to B.
How could traveling such a short distance be so difficult, he reasoned. We have weapons, and we are intelligent, so why has so much gone wrong? He was truly perplexed at the turn of events.
I’m not naïve, I knew it would be difficult, but six dead in just two days!
He stared at the mounds. “You died too young,” he muttered. “I was suppose to protected you… I’m sorry.”
The sound of the river could be heard in the background. The heavy rain was making it wash loudly against the bank. The couple remaining boats, which people deemed unworthy of stealing, rocked against the wooden dock.
Lightning struck a tree in the distance.
The concrete forecourt flashed in the bright light. Fields to either side lit up. The rain was momentarily frozen in time.
Terrance noticed something. Something out there in the field was moving, heading in their direction.
126
Lindell, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Lindell was taking the first watch behind the jeeps powerful weapon. He was tired. So tired. He knew they all were. So much had transpired in just a matter of days – a lifetime of suffering condensed. He was grateful he was still alive to feel exhausted.
He scanned the area around the front and sides of the gas station. The rain poured, and dripped in sheets off the canopy. The sound was soothing. It took all his will power to keep his eyes open. His body was crying out for sleep.
He thought about his daughter and where her mother and stepfather might have taken her. When he saw Kahley once a month, she spoke of a beach house on a small island. He prayed she was safe. Her stepfather was wealthy. He created an empire selling smut. He owned a porn label that grossed over twenty million a year.
When his ex first started dating the man Lindell took the first chance he could to pin the runt of a slimy creep against a wall. He warned Tyrone to keep his baby away from the degrading world he submerged himself in.
Tyrone, allowed Lindell to manhandle him. He then stated it was the only time he would ever be allowed to lay a hand on him, because of the situation, and laying the ground rules.
To Tyrone’s credit, Kahley had never mentioned anything to do with how her new daddy made his money, which could afford to send her to the best school and buy her the most expensive gifts.
Lindell just hoped Tyrone was as good at protecting her from the creatures as he was from his lifestyle.
He looked across toward his b
rother who sat to one side, staring at the graves. He knew Terrance would take their deaths hard, he always did take everything so personally.
The situation is tragic, and sad, but you’re in no way responsible, bro. Life just sucks. Always has, always will. Mom used to say, “The Long Road is a hard road, but it’s a road we all have to travel. Only the dead are saved from the suffering of life, but even the dead have their own burdens to bear.”
Lindell could hear the sound of the water from the wide river behind. It was the first time he had noticed the sound. He wondered why it had changed – become louder?
Because of the rain he presumed something could have been washed down by the storm waters. A large tree or vehicle caught in the currant, that had caused a surge of water to wash over the dock.
He had no way of knowing it was something else – something sentient.
He was about to wave at Terrance, to ask him to check it out, when he noticed movement in the field to one side. The long grass was being flattened by something running through it. A lot of something. Then the creatures screams cut through the sound of the rain.
127
Tierra, Dante, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Dante was sleeping in her arms. She was concerned that he was so quiet. He hadn’t cried since the soldier tried to toss him out the window of the hospital.
Tierra was so hungry. But she was more concerned for her son.
He must be hungry as well, so why wasn’t he crying, and complaining? Was he injured in the struggle? Because of the King brothers rushing in, he was dropped to the floor. Was he hurt?
The fact that the brothers saved her sons life, as well as the others, didn’t factor in with the debate going on in her mind.
He may have hurt his head. There may be a blood clot growing, pushing against his brain.
Tierra rolled him slightly, turning him over, and used a finger to lift an eyelid, checking to see if his eyes were bloodshot.
Normal.
Dante stirred, but didn’t make a sound, as he repositioned himself into a more comfortable position.
If they have hurt him, I will kill them. I will kill them all.
Tierra moved her back, that rested against the cold wall.
There was no bedding to use. No mattresses. Nothing to make their nights rest an easy one.
They told me it would be beneficial to travel with them. Lindell said we would be safe. He would protect us. He said the city was no longer safe. If we didn’t come with them, we wouldn’t last long. She gave a bitter laugh.
Safe! From the moment we left something has been trying to kill us. Six of us have already died. My son almost died. We are not safe, we are sitting targets. It will only be a matter of time before we are next. They can’t protect us. They can’t even protect themselves.
She shifted position.
Naomi was sat opposite. She had her head right back, staring at the ceiling.
The bitch! She was in the toilet for over an hour. I had to take my son outside to piss against a wall because of that selfish cunt!
Tierra narrowed her eyes. They were red from lack of sleep. She would stay awake for however long was necessary to guarantee the safety of her son.
She stared at Naomi.
You have jeopardized the safety of my son too many times. At the next chance I get I am going to kill you, bitch. The next time we get on the container, you will not get off alive.
128
Alex, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Alex was inside the main garage area. He was checking around the collapsed shelves, looking for anything of use. The area had already been looked over, but he had nothing better to do.
It had been a long couple of days, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down, and try to get some sleep. However, he didn’t want to go into the small storage room just yet, he wanted to give them chance to fall asleep or at least settle down. He didn’t want to face the others.
There was so much loss. So much sadness, it was almost palatable. It was certainly different from when they first climbed into the container. Then there was hope. Maybe they would reach somewhere safe. Somewhere they could all eke out a living – surviving off the land. There was a kind of excitement of the unknown.
He also didn’t want to have to watch the priest reading from his battered bible, or listen to Naomi bitching, or suffer the strange looks Tierra was giving everyone that glanced in her direction.
Troy hides himself in the cab. He has the right idea. I wish I had somewhere I could hide. Crawl somewhere safe. Somewhere I can curl up into a ball and nestle safely, without a worry in the world.
Alex lifted another piece of collapsed shelving. There was nothing beneath apart from broken glass, gravel, and empty food packets.
He slowing moved around the room, hoping that whoever ransacked the place had missed something. Anything would do. A candy bar, or a packet of chips. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate a sweet snack – ate just for the sake of eating.
He had to be careful of the floor. There was so much glass.
As he got to one corner he noticed there was an area without glass on the floor. A large shelf was tipped over, leaning against a wall. It looked like there was scuff marks leading to the shelves.
He put his back into it, and tipped the shelving unit over. There was a small wooden hatch in the wall that was about three foot square. Possibly a storage alcove. The scuffmarks lead to the wooden door. The shelf didn’t block it, it simply hid it from view.
Alex gripped the handle and turned. Just as he slowly started pulling the door open, he could hear the powerful gun on the jeep open fire.
As he turned his head toward the noise, he noticed a large group of people were running under the covering, heading in the direction Lindell was firing. He didn’t recognize any of them.
Alex was about to run out, to see what the commotion was all about, and to see who these uninfected people were, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, when something burst through the door he was holding onto, knocking him onto his back.
129
Peter, Bachman, and Emma
Inside Zone 1
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
Peter gagged. The thought of walking through the congealing blood made his stomach turn. The smell was horrendous. It felt like trying to wade through thick oil.
He shouldn’t be here, he should have been at home with his family. When the outbreak first started he was offered an extension on his contract, which had just run out. He was told his family would be taken to a secure location, that his expertise was required in the country’s time of need.
However, when he asked where his family were and was it close, they gave him vague answers, and then eventually, none at all. After a while he got the impression that they had lied to him. That his family were at home, where they have always been. They were out there with the infected.
On numerous occasions, on his rare off time, he tried to get to a part of the bunker where he could send a message to his loved ones. After three weeks of trying he was still been no closer to reaching them. The place was locked down tight. No computer terminal was left unattended. Everything he did was monitored and registered. He was called into his supervisors office, and asked why he was up and about at all hours of the night. He told them he was suffering from insomnia. They subscribed him sleeping pills.
“How much further,” he questioned.
“How the hell would we know, we are in the same boat as you. This is our first time in the bunker as well. Idiot!” Emma stated.
“There’s no need to be rude about it,” he muttered in reply through the gasmask, which was starting to steam up due to the humidity in the tunnel.
“Well use your head, why don’t you.”
Silence ensued, with just the sound of the thick,
stinking sludge around their ankles, and their breathing in the masks.
They arrived at a junction. It was decided to head forward, toward the rough area of Zone 12.
Peter didn’t like the look of the adjoining tunnels. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end. A surge of sludge poured from the cross section and ran up his legs.
Gross!
He quickly moved away from the opening.
“So, when we reach the main computer, you think you will be able to access any of the programming?” Bachman questioned, just to change the subject.
“I hope so. There shouldn’t be any reason why it would be encrypted. It should be a simple case of finding the right console for the task at hand.” Peter waved his arms around his head, as if trying to bat a fly away. He gave the mask a rub. It was no good, it was steaming up on the inside.
“Console?” Bachman said over his shoulder, as he made his way down the long tunnel.
“The computer will be huge – over many floors, I’m guessing. There will be dozens of towers. Each tower will have an accessible computer console, in order to control the function of that particular tower. The towers all interlock. So hopefully, after a couple of try’s we should be able to locate it. There would be no reason to hide the purpose of each tower, so they should be marked, for ease of maintenance.”
“This is all guesswork?” Emma said.
“Of course it is, I have never seen the supercomputer before. But like most systems, they are built along a certain design.”
Bachman continued on. The walls were relatively dry, with small outlets where the waste water, and blood, ran down the walls.
Peter used the end of the long rake to steady himself in the sewage.
“But we will have to time it just right, for when the creatures are inside the furnace level,” Emma remarked.
The Sixth Extinction: America (Omnibus Edition | Books 1 – 8) Page 31