by JE Gurley
“Show’s over,” he said. “I hope you learned something.”
One of the men laughed. “Yeah. I learned not to fuck with you when you’re mad. You swing that hammer like you’re in love with it.”
“Yeah, boss,” another chimed in. “You’re poetry in motion. We didn’t want to get in your way.”
Soweta picked up the sledge, threw it over his shoulder, and began walking back to the crane. “If any of you did an honest day’s work, you might love your tools also.”
Ira Phillips, one of the youngest snipes, grabbed his crotch. “I love my tool. I just don’t get much chance to use it.”
“Your sticky sheets say that ain’t true,” one of the guards replied.
Phillips offered an obscene gesture toward his detractor.
Soweta tossed the sledgehammer onto the short flatcar attached to the crane. “It’s time to return to camp.” He looked around him. “It is too quiet here.”
“We haven’t seen any zombies since we got here.”
Soweta nodded. “That is so,” he agreed, “but the noise we were making should have made them curious.”
“Maybe they’re gone,” the guard said. “The ones in Phoenix left.”
“Yeah, the ones that didn’t die from the gas,” Phillips reminded him as he looked around nervously. “They sure tore up the captain’s boys last week. I’ll feel better when they gas this burg.”
Soweta frowned. “People will die.”
“Lots of people died,” Phillips replied. “If they kill off the freaking zombies, I’ll personally help repopulate the world.”
One of the guards laughed. “That’s what the world needs, more little Phillips running around. As if zombies aren’t bad enough.”
“Load up,” Soweta said.
They all found a spot on the flatcar or inside the crane. From his vantage point inside the crane, Soweta looked out the tail fins of mothballed jets rising in the distance at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base. The military wanted the base. Now, thanks to his hard work and that of his snipes, they could bring men and material to the base from Phoenix by rail. Soon, he and his crew would be moving farther east. He looked forward to seeing Ft. Worth again.
He cranked the engine and began pushing the flatcar west towards their camp. After crossing Valencia Highway, the tracks turned north through the heart of Tucson and the marshalling yard near 22nd Street, the section Soweta hated the most because it passed through subdivisions, business districts, and neighborhoods, easy places for a zombie ambush.
“Keep an eye open,” he yelled to his crew, even though he knew they were as wary of the area as he was.
They heard the first shots as the tracks turned north.
“Someone’s in trouble,” Phillips said from the seat next to him as he picked up his M16 and flicked of the safety. He smiled at Soweta. “Maybe it’s a woman.”
Soweta knew someone was in trouble ahead of them. He pressed the accelerator and the Hi-Rail sped up. A few minutes later, he spotted the truck across the tracks and a man running along them. A horde of zombies on the road kept pace with the man but kept their distance. Soweta hit the horn on the crane. He had no choice but to hit the truck head on and hope the weight of the heavy crane could shove it off the tracks without derailing.
“Hold on,” he yelled.
He braced himself as best he could but still the impact almost threw him from his seat. Tossed about and shaken up, his men managed to stay aboard. The heavy truck screeched as crumpled metal scoured the rails ahead of the crane. Soweta used the crane’s boom to shove it off the tracks. Zombies came at them from their right side, but Soweta spotted more in the distance to their left. His crew recovered quickly and began firing at the leading edge of zombies. They were railroad men and brawlers, but necessity had made them expert shots with their weapons. M16s, shotguns, hunting rifles, and pistols laid down a withering volley of fire that kept the zombies at bay. Those foolish enough to stand on the tracks went down crushed beneath twenty-five tons of speeding metal.
To his credit, the man from the truck did not stop running to wait for them. He angled closer toward the tracks, firing as he went. Soweta was pleased to see him drop two zombies with as many shots. As the flatcar drew nearer to him, Soweta slowed just enough for one of his men to reach out, grab the runner’s hand, and swing him aboard. He then sped up. The zombies became enraged at losing their quarry and rushed the crane and flatcar, but none lived long enough to pose a serious threat. At forty miles per hour, the zombies soon lagged behind.
The man they had rescued lay on his back trying to recover his breath. After a few minutes, he gave Soweta a big thumbs’ up. Soweta chuckled inwardly at the man’s aplomb. It showed courage, though he supposed most cowards had died early on in the plague. It was a world filled with brave men full of testosterone. He turned to Phillips.
“I guess we set one more plate for dinner.”
16
Agua Caliente, Arizona
Renda rushed outside when she heard the bus returning, but her heart sank when she saw the load of passengers it carried. She knew immediately that something had gone terribly wrong. With mounting trepidation and an ache in her heart, she watched them climb down from the bus, searching their troubled faces for some idea of what had happened. When she failed to see Mace, she confronted Vince.
“Where’s Mace?” she demanded. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she forced the words from her throat. “What happened?”
Vince glanced away uneasily. Amanda walked up behind him and laid her hand on his shoulder for support. “We don’t know,” he said.
Her legs felt wobbly, not from her cancer or any pain in her legs, but from the realization that Mace might be lost to her. Her voice cracked as she repeated, “What happened?”
“He and Garza, the leader of this group,” he waved his hand in the direction of the TSS people standing around looking lost, “took an SUV and left first to draw away the zombies. We left a few minutes later with the bus. His plan worked perfectly. The zombies left us alone. We waited at the rendezvous point for an hour.” He paused for a few seconds. “He didn’t show up.”
When Renda stared at him in mute silence, he quickly added, “I’m heading out right now in the jeep to search for him.”
Renda closed her eyes and turned away to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m coming, too,” she said as she started walking toward the trailer for her gun.
“No you’re not,” Vince said, stopping her in her tracks. When she whirled on him, he quickly added, “You need to stay here. These people need someone to help sort things out, a place to bed down.”
“Erin and Elliot can do that,” she insisted. “My place is with Mace.”
“Do you think the seatbelt will fit?” Vince said looking down at her swollen belly. “Do you think you can hang on if I have to go off road? You’re eight months pregnant for Christ’s sake! Do you want to have your child on the side of the road?”
She knew he was right but she felt as if she was abandoning Mace. Her chest ached from the empty cavity growing there. Then her baby kicked, reminding why she doubly needed him back safe. “You’ve got to find him,” she begged as she grabbed his hand.
“I will. I promise.”
She did not doubt Vince’s ability to find her husband, but resented his logical reasons why she shouldn’t go with him. He was right and she hated him for it. He spoke a few words with Elliot before he raced into the kitchen to grab some food for the journey. She didn’t notice Cy until he nudged her elbow, startling her.
“I heard about Mace,” he said. “I’m going with them.”
She nodded to him, unable to speak. She appreciated his volunteering. Because of his quietness and solitary behavior, some people thought him slow-witted and unfriendly, but she knew him to be intelligent and strangely loyal to her, one of the few people he trusted. He walked away to retrieve his weapon.
Vince was inside for only a few minutes. He rushed out
of the trailer and headed for the shed where the jeep was stored. Amanda held open the door to the shed, and then jumped in beside him. He cranked the jeep and began to back out of the shed. Cy walked up and stood behind the jeep, stopping him. Renda could not overhear the animated conversation between him and Vince, but could tell by Vince’s expression that he was not pleased. However, Cy was insistent and finally climbed into the rear of the jeep. Vince shrugged and continued backing out of the shed. Renda watched until the jeep disappeared over the ridge, her heart traveling with it.
“I’m sure he’s okay,” Elliot said as he walked up with Erin clinging tightly to him. For a brief second, she envied Erin for having her man so close.
Renda was not in a conciliatory mood. She wanted answers. “How did you separate? Who is this Garza he was with?”
Acutely aware of Renda’s anger and unwilling to become the target of her wrath, Elliot did not hold back. “We were trapped. We knew we didn’t have much time before the zombies found a way in. Mace decided that a decoy might draw them off while the bus escaped. You know Mace. It was his idea so he insisted on driving. Vince was against it, I might add. He thought he should be the one to drive the truck.” Renda felt a momentary twinge of guilt for attacking Vince but set it aside as Elliot continued. “Garza was the leader of the Tucson group. He’s an Afghan vet, so he and Mace hit it off from the start. He seemed quite capable, but he deferred to Mace’s judgment. They got away safely allowing the bus to break out and head off in another direction. We heard shots in the distance, but we expected that. We tried the radio several times but heard nothing. We just figured he was too busy for conversation. We waited for him near the intersection of I-8 and I-10. He didn’t show.” Elliot paused. “We had to get these people back here first, Renda. We’ll find him.”
Renda refused to give in to the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She knew Elliot had done exactly as Mace would have wanted. She knew as well that Vince would not return until he had found her husband, dead or alive. She would not trust her voice to reply. She simply nodded her head and walked away.
Erin was elated to see Elliot return safely, but the news of Mace’s disappearance tempered her joy with a bittersweet taste. She knew Renda was in no emotional state to deal with the possibility of Mace’s death, not on top of her cancer and her pregnancy. She wished there was more she could do. She did not have long to celebrate Elliot’s return. She had to help settle the newcomers into the now overcrowded quarters. They would all have to be checked for disease and immunity to the zombie virus. A dining schedule had to be decided upon since the kitchen could not accommodate so many people at one time. Until they could locate more trailers, things were going to become very cozy.
She noticed Trish Moon staring at her from across the room. At first, she thought Trish might harbor ill feelings for the death of Bob Krell, but then she noticed that the woman looked frightened. She approached her.
“I see that you’re back,” she said.
To her surprise, Trish smiled. “So it seems. Mace wasted no words telling me how selfish I was. He said you needed my blood.”
Erin suppressed a grin. “Mace has never been one to mince words. Your blood is unique. If my tests were correct, you may very well hold the answer to a vaccine.”
“So there’s a cure.”
“Cure?” Erin questioned, and then shook her head. “No, no cure. It won’t affect zombies. Their condition is genetic. However, it does mean that Blue Juice will no longer be necessary to keep us safe.”
Trish rolled up her sleeve and offered her arm. “Take all the blood you need. Let’s get started. I don’t want anyone else winding up like poor Bob. How long will it take?”
“I’m afraid you’re laboring under a misconception. Even if we replace all our damaged equipment, with only your blood to work with, creating sufficient serum for even a few of us will take weeks, maybe months.”
Erin watched in sympathy as Trish seemed to deflate, her disappointment obvious. She had expected Erin to make gallons of vaccine overnight. She tried to offer Trish some hope.
“Once we discover the particular cytokine that triggers your immunity, we can synthesize it using other blood.”
“So Mace was right?”
“Yes, we really need you. I’ll try to be as easy on you as possible.”
Trish shrugged her shoulders. “Like I told Mace, I owe him my life. I’ll do what I can.”
Erin winced as she thought of Mace missing. “Thank you?”
“You could show me where I’m going to bed down.”
Erin pursed her lips and said, “Hmm? That could be a problem. For now, we’ll sleep in shifts. You can take my bunk.”
“I don’t want to put you out.”
“No problem. I don’t think I could sleep until Mace comes back safely.”
“Everyone around here seems to hold him in high regard.”
Erin had never considered it from an outsider’s viewpoint. “Yes, I guess I do. He, Renda, Vince and Jeb Stone came to San Diego to free us from the military. I guess we all owe him our lives.”
Trish nodded. “I see. I hope he makes it back.”
Once she had shown Trish and the TSS refuges into which trailers they were to bed down, she sought Elliot, needing his presence to reassure her things would be all right. She found him directing the workers rebuilding the Level 4 lab, jumping it to help replace the heavy, two-inch thick acrylic window. He glanced in her direction but quickly turned his attention back to the installation of the window. She waited patiently until he was satisfied that it was seated properly.
“Do you think he’s still alive?” she asked.
“Mace can handle himself. There are a number of reasons he’s been delayed.”
She nodded. She could see that despite his faith in Mace’s abilities, Elliot was concerned. “Renda is at her wit’s end. I’m worried for her.”
Elliot walked over to her and gently touched her cheek with the palm of his hand. She leaned into it as he caressed her cheek. “She’s a strong woman. She’ll be okay.”
She recoiled at Elliot’s words. She wanted to tell Elliot just how wrong he was, that she was dying of cancer, but she had promised not to reveal Renda’s secret. “I guess you’re right.”
He focused his attention on the work going on around them. “You’ll be up and running in another day or two.”
“Good. Ang had a great idea about how to pinpoint the exact cytokine messenger proteins we found in Trish’s blood.” She paused, removed her glasses and looked into his eyes. “If we’re right, this may be the vaccine we’ve been hoping for.”
Elliot drew her to him and kissed her. To Erin, it felt like a small slice of heaven, but before she could respond fully, he pulled away.
“Now quit distracting me so we can get on with our work.”
When she frowned at him, he spun her around, smacked her on her bottom, and said, “Go.”
She smiled and sashayed to the door, knowing his eyes followed her every move.
17
Tucson, Arizona
Mace carefully studied the men who had saved his ass. He was glad for the timely rescue but wondered what he had gotten himself into. By their looks, the men weren’t military, but they had to have some connection with the military. Their leader, the biggest black man he had ever seen off a basketball court, continued to stare intently at him through the window of the crane. From the snatches of conversation he overheard over the singing of the steel wheels on the rails, the group ran the gamut from Latino to white redneck to Northern Yankee. The oldest might be pushing sixty, the youngest barely out of his twenties. The one thing they all had in common, other than the weapons they carried, was the look of men at ease in their natural environment – big, burly, roughhouse railroad men. He turned to the man nearest him, the one who had helped him aboard the moving flatcar.
“The name’s Mace Ridell. Thanks for the lift.”
Around him, the others continue
d taking pot shots at zombies, but the crane was quickly leaving them behind.
“I’m Jake,” the man replied. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the crumpled Tahoe. “That your ride blocking our nice clean tracks?”
Mace looked at the smashed Tahoe containing Garza’s body and grimaced. He felt an overwhelming guilt at leaving Garza’s body behind. Garza deserved better than that. “It was. I left a friend with it.”
“Too bad. Friends are hard to come by these days. You can’t have too many. You from around here?”
Mace didn’t want to reveal too much to protect the others. He quickly thought of a likely cover story. “No. We were exploring. Poked our noses in the wrong neighborhood.”
“We’ll take care of the buggers soon. Looks like you’re along for the ride.”
“Where are you headed?” He was afraid they might be returning to Phoenix.
“We’ve got a place north of here at the edge of town – Marana, I think.”
“Just you railroad boys?” he probed.
“Nah, the army’s keeping us company.” Jake looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”
Mace shrugged. “No. No problem.”
Jake’s grin surprised him. “Yeah, I don’t like those smarmy army bastards either, but we have to keep them safe.”
Mace looked back at the big black man driving the crane, who was still staring at him. “Who’s the big man?”
“Dingane Soweta. He’s one of them Zulu tribesmen, but he knows railroads like he knows the pimples on his ass. He’s a good boss. Looks after his crew.”
Coming from a railroad man, Mace took the latter as high praise. The crane and flatcar entered the marshalling yard just south of downtown. Dozens of locomotives and boxcars sat idle and rusting on the dozens of side rails, trains frozen in place by the plague. Mace was surprised there was no activity. He mentioned this to Jake.