Transmission: Voodoo Plague Book 5

by Dirk Patton

  We had moved beyond the path of the previous day’s storms and as Little Rock drew closer the terrain changed from flat to rolling and I started seeing more trees. There was also a pall of smoke hanging over the area, held down by the heavy cloud cover. I had seen what was being burned to generate all that pollution, and knew I didn’t want to smell it. Playing with the SUV’s controls I got the air conditioning set to recirculate the interior air rather than bring in outside air. I’ve smelled burning human flesh before, never mind where, and I wasn’t eager to experience it again.

  Passing a couple of large truck stops that were dark and abandoned, I slowed when I spied walking figures a few hundred yards ahead. They were on the roadway, and appeared to be moving towards the city. Braking to a stop, I raised my rifle and used the scope to look at them. I made a mental note to get my hands on a pair of binoculars. Now that I was west of the Mississippi, the country really opened up. There was a lot of flat terrain without trees, unlike east of the river, and I wanted to take full advantage of being able to see threats at a much greater distance.

  Through the scope I could tell these were infected, and there were too many to count. Certainly not a massive herd like we’d fought in Murfreesboro, or seen during our escape from Tennessee, but still more than I was willing to encounter in our luxury, soccer mom machine. The Lexus was comfortable as hell on pavement, had a decent four wheel drive system for tame off-roading, but it was far from the tank-like protection I wanted before driving into a herd of these damn things.

  I messed with the navigation system as Rachel continued to sleep. Dog had wakened when I’d stopped and shoved his head against my arm looking for attention. Giving him a quick neck scratch I focused back on the map display. A couple of tweaks and I spotted us, discovering we were 18 miles from Little Rock. Hoping we were close enough, I fished an earpiece out of my collar and inserted it in my left ear, powering up my radio.

  I made four calls on four different military frequencies, but didn’t get anything in response. I hadn’t really expected to reach anyone, but it had been worth a try. Leaving the radio on, I worked with the navigation screen, looking for a bypass route that would get me to Little Rock Air Force Base. There were two options. Continue ahead into the city and turn north on a smaller highway, or backtrack a few miles and take a series of small farm roads. Another look ahead at the small herd and it was an easy decision.

  Getting us turned around, I headed east again for a few miles, watching the nav screen and getting off the Interstate onto an unmarked road that ran due north. Following it for a couple of miles, I made a turn to the west and hit the brakes. Some type of giant farm equipment completely blocked the road. It sat on massive tires and was so long each end extended well off the pavement into the muddy fields on either side. There was a large, glass enclosed cab that sat a good 12 feet above ground level.

  I had no idea what it was, but had a good idea why it had been parked there. It was a quick and easy, yet highly effective, roadblock. I didn’t think even heavy military vehicles would be able to move it. Rachel had woken when I stopped this time, sitting up looking around.

  “Where are we? Why did we leave the Interstate?” She asked, grimacing and reaching down to rub her hip where the vaccine had gone in.

  I spent a few minutes bringing her current as I looked around the area. To either side of the road were muddy fields. They looked like they had been harvested and prepared for planting, but the planting had never happened. They also looked like they were nothing more than deep, soft mud. Finished filling Rachel in on our situation I decided to step out and check the ground. From the driver’s seat it looked like the type of mud that would suck the Lexus in all the way to its axles and not let go.

  Telling Rachel to stay in the vehicle, I carefully scanned in every direction. Seeing nothing to concern me I opened my door and stepped down onto the road, rifle up and ready the moment my feet touched. Dog scrambled across the center console, onto the driver’s seat and jumped down to go with me. His nose immediately went up and tested the air, a low growl emanating from his chest a moment later. I hadn’t seen anything when I’d scanned the area, but wasn’t about to ignore a warning from Dog. If he smelled something, it was there.

  The wind was out of the southeast, behind me. Whatever Dog smelled had to be in that direction, so I turned and put my eye to the scope as I scanned. I missed them on the first pass, black hair blending well with the color of the mud, but caught the movement when they ran onto the road. Two razorbacks. They looked younger, probably no more than 150 pounds each, but still big enough to ruin my afternoon.

  They were still several hundred yards away and I had enough time to check the fields. One step off the shoulder and I knew there was no way the Lexus could make it. My boot sank six inches deep into the thick mud, making a wet, sucking sound when I pulled my foot out to step back on the gravel at the edge of the pavement. The big SUV would sink to its frame in this quagmire. I had no doubt of that.

  Another check of the razorbacks found them about 300 yards out and still closing fast. I gave Dog three seconds to finish peeing on a small bush, then whistled him into the vehicle. He left muddy footprints on my seat, but I didn’t care. Back inside, I got us moving, careful not to drive off the shoulder as I turned the SUV around. Rachel had seen me peering through the scope at the hogs and knew what was coming.

  By the time we were heading back towards the Interstate, the razorbacks were inside 75 yards and showing no sign of slowing. I started to accelerate towards them, then remembered the behavior of the infected humans that would run directly into a vehicle without a thought for their own safety. If the hogs did that, and I had any amount of speed, it could seriously damage the Lexus.

  This was a cushy, suburban vehicle designed for trips to the country club, the mall or anywhere you wanted to take along six other people in comfort. It wasn’t armored and didn’t have a heavy push bar like the truck I’d used to get us out of Atlanta. The razorbacks were probably no more than 150 pounds, but couple that with their speed and they could do a lot of damage just by running into us.

  I hit the brakes and brought us to a stop when they were 40 yards away. Sitting, I watched them charge, and they weren’t slowing or deviating.

  “Put it in park!” Rachel suddenly shouted, making me jump. I started to turn my head to look at her, but she shouted again and I moved the lever that controlled the transmission.

  Moments later the lead hog impacted the front bumper hard enough to rock the heavy vehicle. The hood was too tall for me to see what the impact did to him or the Lexus. A moment later the second one arrived, grazing the front fender with his shoulder and causing a horrible scarping sound as his tusk was dragged along the side of the SUV.

  I shifted into drive, accelerating, and we bounced over the razorback that had run directly into our front bumper. Maybe he had been dead, or perhaps only stunned, but one of the tires crushed his head into pulp as we drove.

  “What was with shifting into park?” I asked, gaining speed and watching in the mirror as the second hog began pursuing.

  “Air bags.” Rachel answered. “I was in a McDonald’s drive through a couple of years ago and the car ahead backed in to me hard enough to cause my air bags to deploy. When I took my car in for repairs, the guy in the body shop told me that air bags are disabled if the transmission is in park, even if the motor’s running. Said he always shifts into park in drive through lines. I didn’t know if that hog was big or heavy enough to cause them to pop, but figured why take the chance.”

  I nodded, glad she had yelled a warning. Suddenly the Lexus didn’t feel so comfortable. It felt vulnerable. As soon as I could find one, I’d move us to a truck, or preferably a military vehicle. Even though we were only about 30 miles from Little Rock Air Force Base, I had learned the hard way just how difficult it can be to cross 30 miles. Modern life has spoiled us. 150 years ago, 30 miles was a two day journey at best. Now, millions of people commuted farther tha
n that just to go to work each morning. Well, did. Morning commutes were a thing of the past. And 30 miles was once again an adventure in survival.

  17

  I stopped when we reached the Interstate, taking my time to review the navigation screen before proceeding. The idea of trying to bull our way through herds of infected really concerned me. I was also worried about where they were coming from. Were more people starting to turn, or had these been stumbling around the countryside and just now were starting to converge on the city? If these were freshly turned, we might be too late in trying to get the vaccine manufactured and distributed.

  “What are we doing?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m trying to figure that out. I’m concerned about trying to push on in to Little Rock to get to the highway that will take us to the air base. If there’s more people turning, it could be as bad as some of what we went through in Nashville and Memphis.” I answered, checking the mirrors to make sure there wasn’t something sneaking up on us. Couldn’t just worry about people any more.

  “Besides swine and birds, are there other animals that humans share viral infections with?” I asked.

  “Swine, birds and primates are the big three we commonly hear about, heard about, but almost any mammal has the potential. Think about anthrax – cattle. And that’s just one example I can think of right off. There are whole fields of study dealing with Zoonosis, the transmission of diseases between humans and animals, and I got maybe a tenth of one percent of it in medical school. I do know that we also have to worry about insects, potentially. Think of all the diseases that mosquitos and fleas transmit. Diseases that won’t jump from an animal to a human through casual contact, but the bite of an insect transmits it quite effectively.”

  “What about dogs?” I asked, getting a wet nose shoved against my arm when he thought I was talking to him.

  “Anything’s possible,” Rachel answered slowly, turning in her seat and reaching out to rub Dog’s furry head. “There are several viral infections that can be passed between humans and dogs. You just don’t hear about them because most people in America keep their pets and themselves clean and vaccinated. But yes, it’s possible.”

  “Sorry I asked.” I said, looking at Dog and starting to worry. He’d killed countless infected by tearing out their throats. That meant lots of infected blood in his mouth. There was no way he wasn’t exposed. “I’ve got another syringe of vaccine I brought for Jackson. Should we give it to Dog?”

  Rachel looked out the window, thinking, then shook her head. “I don’t think so. The little bit I know about viruses and vaccines – well, I think it would be as dangerous to use a vaccine on him that was developed for humans as not vaccinating him at all. In fact, many human vaccines are human immune system specific and would kill a dog.”

  “So what the hell do we do about the infection going the other way, to animals? Anyway to stop it?” I asked.

  “Maybe, with a concerted effort by a top tier research team, unlimited funds and manpower. In the world we’re in? It’s going to spread throughout whatever animal can host it until equilibrium is reached.”

  “What do you mean? Equilibrium?” I asked.

  “Until the infection rate is 100%, or so close as to not matter, and the population of infected stabilizes. Some of the population will die. Some will survive. Some will be naturally immune. All of that will have to work itself out, and man no longer can do much of anything to affect the outcome.” She said, turning in her seat and looking out the rear window. “Whatever we’re doing, we’d better do it soon. We need to get to some shelter. Looks like another round of storms is coming.”

  Turning and looking, I did a double take when I saw a green sky. How the hell does that happen? But, Rachel was right. We needed to get somewhere safe. I had been delaying making a decision because I was tired. Tired of running and fighting. I needed about 12 hours of sleep and a hot meal. But I didn’t see that happening anytime in the near future. Oh well, time to move forward.

  Stepping on the gas, I once again headed west on I-40. Soon we caught up with the small herd that was moving in the same direction. They were spread out across the roadway, but looked thinner on the eastbound side. Slowing, I drove across the grassy median and up onto the pavement, driving against oncoming traffic. But there wasn’t any traffic, only infected bodies turning at our approach.

  I slowed to less than 20 miles an hour, hoping the impact of multiple bodies wouldn’t disable the Lexus or cause the air bags to deploy. Steering, I tried to contact as many of them as I could with the corners of the bumper. The bumper was tall enough to strike most of the infected just below their hips, and the ones that were hit by the corners were sent spinning away into the crowd, knocking others off their feet.

  There were a few infected in the herd that looked like they had been wandering around for some time, but many of them were clean and wearing clothing and shoes that were in good repair. Freshly turned. A couple of the males even still had rifles strapped to their bodies. Thank God they were no longer intelligent enough to know how to use them.

  “You seeing the ones that look new?” Rachel asked, holding her rifle tightly as she stared out the windows at the herd.

  “Yep. Not good news.” I said, turning the wheel to avoid a particularly large concentration of bodies.

  The herd had looked small when we approached from the rear, but as we kept pushing forward it became obvious that there were more infected than I had anticipated. They were spread out more than I had become accustomed to, and as a result I had misjudged their numbers. I was starting to get more than a little concerned. I had expected to be through the herd and on clear pavement by now, not encountering a denser concentration as we progressed.

  Their numbers seemed to quickly increase as they responded to the sound of the straining engine. The herd started collapsing in on us from all sides, females leaping onto the running boards and pounding on the side windows. I couldn’t see the far edge of the herd and decided this had been a bad idea. It was time to get us out of there before we got swamped and immobilized. If that happened it would only be a matter of time before they were able to smash their way inside the vehicle and spoil our evening.

  Spinning the wheel I gunned the engine, less concerned about the air bags than I was with getting us clear of the herd as quickly as possible. Rachel was staying quiet, but Dog was whining and growling, moving from side to side to snarl at females that were hanging on to the Lexus with their faces pressed to the glass. I pushed harder on the accelerator, shoving bodies aside and under us.

  The engine was straining to keep moving us through the crush of infected, and we were slowly losing speed and momentum. Fists pounded on the body and glass of the SUV, the sound nearly deafening. I kept my foot on the gas, worrying about being brought to a stop the way the herd in Los Alamos had stopped the MRAP. Fortunately, before that could happen the crush began to thin, the constant thump of the bumper striking bodies easing as we gained speed.

  We quickly reached the rear edge of the herd, which was now becoming the leading edge as they turned to pursue. In the mirrors I could see the solid mass of males stumbling along in our wake, dozens of females racing ahead of the main body to chase after us. Five females still clung to the exterior of the Lexus and as our speed passed 50 I started swerving as hard as I felt I could without risking a roll over of the top heavy vehicle. This succeeded in dislodging two of them, but the remaining three clung to us as tightly as barnacles.

  Pushing our speed to 80, I warned Rachel to brace herself, checked to make sure Dog was seated, then stood on the brakes. The vehicle’s nose dipped dramatically and the brake pedal vibrated under my foot as the ABS system kicked in. First one, then the other two females went flying, all of them tumbling down the asphalt to our front. As soon as the third one lost her grip I took my foot off the brake and floored the accelerator. I ran over one, smashed one aside and completely missed the third as we roared towards the approaching storm.


  “You’re getting good at that.” Rachel commented.

  “Too damn much practice.” I answered with a smile.

  We quickly left the infected behind, but were heading the wrong direction. The Lexus’ headlights came on automatically as we lost more light to the setting sun and heavy clouds. The entire horizon was dark, the overcast swollen with rain. Lightning continually flashed, lighting the clouds from within. With a couple of miles between the herd and us, I pulled to a stop to take another look at the navigation system.

  There weren’t a lot of roads in the area. A few small tracks that cut through the agriculture that dominated the landscape, primarily for the use of farmers. That was it. West of Little Rock it appeared to change dramatically, but between the city and the river, farmers had taken full advantage of the rich soil of the floodplain.

  The only route that might help us move on west was to backtrack 20 miles and take state highway 70 that ran south for a few miles before turning and running into downtown Little Rock. With a sigh I selected this route on the screen and accelerated to the east.

  18

  We made good time, quickly reaching the turnoff for the smaller state highway and getting off the Interstate. It was almost completely dark by the time we turned back to the west and I lowered our speed so anything or anyone on the pavement wouldn’t surprise me. The world around us was dark, no lights to be seen in any direction. Behind us the lightning continually lit the clouds and the night sky, but the storm didn’t seem to be drawing any closer. Ahead, there was a faint glow that I suspected was the lights of Little Rock reflecting off the bottom of the cloud cover.