Skull's Shadows (Plague Wars Series)

by David VanDyke

  Still, in his late forties, he wasn’t as young and fit as he used to be. His muscles began to shake and cramp. Skull was forced to alter his smooth and practiced stroke to give relief to tired muscles. The pull of the raft kept tugging at his right hand during each overhand reach, dragging him even further south. He had to adjust nearly every few yards to ensure he wasn’t being diverted directly into the path of the oncoming barge. He’d lost the three-light marker long ago. Now his only navigational aid was the growing dark bulk of the northbound barge.

  I’m not going to make it like this, he thought. The barge would run him over. His only chance was to swim downriver at a diagonal toward the barge. Hopefully he would reach the far bank before the barge reached him. It would take him very far to the south, but he recognized that was irrelevant now. He was swimming for his life.

  Skull stopped fighting the raft and let it go, swimming after it. He angled toward the target bank while building up speed. The going was exponentially easier than what he was trying to do before, but Skull knew this was dangerously deceptive. The truth was he was swimming as fast as he could toward his own death.

  The barge loomed huge now. It filled the night. Skull kicked hard, giving everything he had as the huge boat bore down on him. Not looking up, he dug deep and focused on the motion of swimming, ignoring the onrushing danger and his screaming lungs.

  He looked up just as the barge passed within feet of his back. Skull kicked hard three times to get out of the barge’s wake and barely succeeded. Gasping for air, he began to swim at a more leisurely pace when he felt a strong pull on his right wrist. Skull looked for the raft, but couldn’t find it. The cord led down into water under the barge.

  Suddenly, he was pulled forcefully back under the water toward the barge. He could feel the heavy bulk of tons of metal over the top of him and the soft mud of the riverbed bare meters below. He could see the raft twisting and spinning in the murky water, pulling him behind it.

  Toward the barge’s large screws.

  He fought and pulled at the cord around his wrist, but was dragged steadily backward. Flailing around in the water, he brushed against something hard that moved beneath his hand. Reaching out again with his left hand, he grasped the limb of the sunken tree resting on the bottom of the river. The cord with the raft pulled painfully on his right wrist as his left slipped on the slime-covered underwater branch.

  Skull held on until he thought he would pass out from lack of oxygen before he noticed that the raft wasn’t pulling on him as strongly as before. It simply floated above him on the murky water. He let go of the branch and kicked for the surface, his lungs screaming for air. The raft burst through the surface a moment before Skull’s head did. Gasping and coughing, he fought tunnel vision from the lack of oxygen. Looking around, he saw the barge receding from him to the north. Resting on the raft, he allowed himself to drift until he had gathered his breath and strength before swimming again toward the east side of the river.

  He climbed up the muddy bank and collapsed in the wet reeds, sensing mosquitoes landing on him and drinking his blood, but he didn’t care. He wondered idly if mosquitoes could be carriers of the Eden virus the way they were carriers of malaria and yellow fever.

  Something the biogeeks will have to work out, he thought. Might make this whole issue of quarantine moot.

  He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, and might have even slept, but when he felt something slither across the back of his calves in the water he decided it was time to move. Climbing slowly out of the water, he dragged the raft with him. He was too weak to go very far and stopped a few yards into the tree line. Pulling out his sleeping bag, he lay it on a dry patch of ground with his pack nearby, stripped naked, climbed inside and went to sleep.

  ***

  A loud horn blast awakened Skull and he looked out through the low-hanging trees to see another large barge going upriver. Morning had broken and the humidity already oppressed him.

  Sitting up and climbing out of his sleeping bag, Skull felt like an overstretched rubber band. He cleaned the mud and leaves off his naked body the best he could and then checked his weapons and gear. He was pleased to see that despite everything last night, the interior of the waterproof bag remained dry. He’d been too tired the night before to even notice, much less check. Getting dressed, he made sure his Glock and knife were concealed on his body within easy reach.

  Looking up the river, he could no longer see the I-40 bridge leading to Memphis out of sight behind a bend and guessed he’d drifted a significant distance. Turning southward gave him no additional idea of his exact location. He realized it didn’t matter; he had almost certainly reached the southern part of Tennessee if not the state of Mississippi and needed to go northeast.

  Skull put on his pack and started walking up the slight rise out of the river embankment, climbing into the flood plain that had existed for thousands of years. The only modern difference was a six-foot-tall concrete dike at the edge.

  Trudging north he realized he needed a shower and some hot food. The more he looked like a dirty vagabond drunk, the more likely he was to be harassed by the authorities. Dress like a cop, people think you’re a cop. Dress like a bum, people think you’re a bum. Also, his body and morale could use the boost that both would bring.

  After a couple of hours walking through fields and down side roads he made his way to Route 61, a major north-south highway bordering the river. Turning north, he continued to move steadily. He could probably try to hitchhike, but he’d never been a fan of that practice. Just too many unknowns. With time and no one chasing him at the moment, he felt he could walk for now.

  By noon, Skull saw an exit with signs for gas, food, lodging, and gift shops. Walking wearily up to a cheap motel, he entered the tiny lobby and saw a bored fat man behind the counter.

  “Can I help you?” the man asked.

  “I need a room for the night.”

  The man looked at a clock on the wall. “Check-in isn’t until three.”

  “How much are the rooms with breakfast?”

  The man quoted him a price that seemed much too high, but Skull wasn’t about to argue. He pulled out the money, rounded up, added an extra twenty and slid the bills across the counter. “Any way I can get into a room now? I’m pretty beat.”

  The fat man looked at the money and then at Skull. Drawing it across the counter toward him, he smiled. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Five minutes later, Skull deadbolted a cheap, badly fitting door that, even closed, showed outside light through every edge. He dropped his bags on stained carpet, wedged a chair under the door knob, cranked the AC up to High, and then took a long hot shower. After drying off, brushing his teeth and shaving his face and head, he lay down on the lumpy bed and slept soundly, Glock under his pillow.

  When Skull awoke it was dark outside. The nightstand clock read nearly eight p.m. Putting on the last of his clean clothes, he stepped outside, and then paused. Then he went back and put his weapons and gear into his smaller go-bag, hefting it over one shoulder before going back out and locking the door. Looking across the parking lot, he saw an all-night diner that obviously catered to truckers craving high-calorie, high-cholesterol, high-cheese entrees.

  High-everything sounded heavenly to Skull at that moment. He walked over to the diner and went inside, noticing it was nearly empty.

  “Sit wherever you like, honey,” said a voice from behind the counter. “I’ll be with you in just a minute.”

  Selecting a booth at the end, Skull put his back to a wall and faced the entrance. No one should be following him, but bad habits are easy to pick up.

  A pert waitress with pink hair and a nametag that read “Brenda Lou” came over with a pad of paper and pencil in hand. “What can I get you to drink there, sweetie?”

  “Water and hot tea, ma’am,” he answered. “Green tea if you got it.”

  She looked at him uncertainly. “We got Lipton tea bags.”

  “That’s fi
ne,” he said. The waitress walked away and he studied the room. Five other men shared the dining room with him. All appeared to be truckers, all were alone, and all looked tired and distant. Except for his slim, fit appearance, Skull blended right in. Nearly all of the truckers watched the TV news in the corner with bored and distant looks on their faces.

  “Here you go, hon,” said the waitress, coming back with his drinks. “Can I interest you in the Hungry Man’s Special?”

  Skull was on the verge of declining out of habit, and then asked, “What is it, ma’am?”

  Brenda Lou’s face lit up, making her fiftyish visage look a decade younger. “Oh, don’t you ‘ma’am’ me. Call me Brenda Lou, just like on my nametag.” She tapped it with a long, painted nail.

  “Okay, Brenda Lou.”

  “There you go. Well, the Hungry Man’s Special’s a sixteen-ounce t-bone steak with two over-easy eggs on top sprinkled with three different types of cheese. Comes with Texas toast, grits, black-eyed peas and your choice of side salad or tomato soup. If you finish it all you get a slice from your choice of six different pies.”

  Sounds like a total heart attack, he thought. “I’ll take it. The soup instead of the salad.”

  “How would you like your steak?”

  “Still mooing on the grill.”

  “Comin’ right up,” she replied, her steps a little lighter as she walked away.

  Skull noticed the men in the room all looking at him appreciatively. Evidently, even these semi-professional eaters had some respect for the Hungry Man’s Special.

  Sipping the hot tea, he picked up an abandoned newspaper from the counter, spreading it out on the table before him. The cleanup of the Arkansas Free State was still the front-page news. In the story, the federal government claimed the area contained several terrorist training facilities. Tensions remained high with Texas. Alaska had followed that state’s example by suspending mandatory Eden testing and allowing easy immigration. There was also a bill proposed in Alaska to secede from the U.S., with the voting set to start before that of Texas in order to take advantage of the summer months.

  The U.S. government was evidently not only furious with Alaska, but also Canada, which had publicly encouraged the “defiance” of the states, and had been at odds with the current administration regarding their policies toward Edens.

  The inside page contained stories of how the new Soviet Union had massed its military along the borders of the previous Warsaw Pact countries after completing its annexation of Central Asia and the Caucasus Region. NATO was on high alert and strongly condemned the troop movements, but the Alliance lacked teeth with the United States preoccupied with internal matters. Latvia and Bulgaria had already reached separate neutrality agreements with the Soviet Union in return for withdrawing from NATO.

  The financial page showed world markets in severe disarray. The price of oil, grain, and gold had shot through the roof while the international trade in manufactured goods, especially luxury items, had decreased dramatically. Inflation was rising steadily in the U.S., and the commercial property and housing market had crashed in all but a few highly desirable areas. Bankruptcies abounded, and many companies had shut their doors.

  Famines in West Africa and India were especially severe and piracy in the Horn of Africa region had reached an all-time high. Israel, Switzerland, Ethiopia, and Turkey had closed their borders indefinitely.

  What was strikingly absent, Skull noted, was any news on areas offering sanctuary for large quantities of Edens. Nothing on Colombia, Argentina, South Africa, Australia or the other Free Communities, as Markis had termed them. Propaganda and scare stories abounded about the Eden Plague and the crises sweeping the globe, but nothing positive on Markis or the resistance he was setting up. The only stories that mentioned the man who released the Eden Plague castigated him for causing worldwide chaos and for “crimes against humanity.”

  “Here you go, hon,” said Brenda Lou, returning with a giant flat tray that appeared on the verge of snapping several of her vertebrae. She set the serving platter on the edge of the table and offloaded a dizzying array of plates, saucers, bowls, and sides. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked a little breathlessly while blowing a stray hair out of her face.

  “No, this will be fine,” Skull answered with a genuine smile.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy it,” she said, her own smile lingering. “Good luck,” she threw back over her shoulder as she walked away.

  Skull immediately cut off half the steak, put it between two pieces of Texas toast, and wrapped this in several napkins before sneaking it inside his pack. Then he proceeded to eat every other bite. After a half hour of hard work he sat back contentedly.

  The waitress approached a little hesitantly, her eyes wide. “Good lord,” she said. “You okay?”

  “Just a refill on the tea,” Skull replied with a broad smile.

  She nodded with a nervous laugh, and began clearing the multitude of used dishware in front of him before walking away.

  “Oh, and Brenda Lou?” he called out after her.

  She turned carefully, still holding all the dishware.

  “How about that pie?”

  ***

  Skull slept soundly and deeply until the next morning, when he ate voraciously of the included motel breakfast, squirreling away some extra fruit and boxed cereal in his pockets. The previous night he had washed all his dirty clothes and even his sleeping bag at the small coin-operated laundry room in the motel, so he was soon ready to check out. At the counter he asked the day cashier, a short fat woman this time, “Is there a used car lot around here?”

  She laughed. “Tons of ’em. Famous Ed’s is just off the next exit up the road.”

  “How far is that?”

  “Only a couple miles,” she said. “Best deals you’ll find in the area. I should know. He’s my brother-in-law.”

  “Would he be willing to come pick me up? I’m without transportation right now.” Skull said. “My car’s transmission went out last night and the mechanic says it will be more to replace it than the car is worth, so I told him to keep it.”

  She looked at him skeptically.

  “Tell him I’m a sure-fire sale,” Skull added. “I have to buy a car.”

  The woman overcame her hesitation and made a phone call. Then she turned back to him. “There’ll be a car here in about ten minutes to pick you up.”

  “Thank you very kindly,” Skull said, stepping outside.

  In about twenty minutes a car pulled up. “You the guy wanting to buy a car?”

  “That’s me,” answered Skull, tossing his bags in the back and climbing in the passenger seat of a vintage red Camaro.

  “My name’s Tony,” the driver said, holding out a hand. “I work for Ed.”

  “I’m Zach Ulser,” Skull said naming one of his three prepared identities. He took the man’s hand. “I really appreciate the ride.”

  “No problem,” Tony answered pulling out onto the highway. “It’s a slow day so far anyway.”

  “Nice car,” Skull said appreciatively, running his hand over the dash.

  “Nothing like the ’67 Z28, I’ll tell you. 400 horsepower 302 with the dual four-barrels.” Tony put the clutch in and revved the engine to a roar.

  Skull whistled. “Sweet.”

  They made their way to a large car lot with brightly colored streamers hanging over an assortment of cars, vans, trucks, and SUVs in various conditions and colors.

  “Have a look around,” Tony told him after they got out of the Camaro. “I’ll go tell Ed you’re here.”

  Skull walked up and down the line of cars. He needed something cheap, cheap enough that it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to buy outright. His cash was also limited, so he would need to use Zach Ulser’s visa card.

  He was on the verge of picking a vehicle nearly at random when something in the corner caught his eye. Walking over to a large Honda Gold Wing motorcycle, he saw it was old but in good condition. It wo
uldn’t have the off-road capability or acceleration of his last bike, but it had lots of storage in the three rear carriers and the seat would be comfortable. He would make good time on limited gas and could get through traffic jams far more easily.

  “Planning on doing some serious cruising, I see,” said a voice behind Skull.

  He turned and saw a man in a cheap suit with dark slicked-back hair. He had a smile on his face and his hand out to shake.

  Skull took it. “You must be Ed.”

  “Guilty as charged,” Ed answered. “My sister-in-law said you had a bit of tough luck. Hope we can help you out with that.”

  “I hope so too,” said Skull turning back to the bike. “I haven’t ridden in years, but this might be just what I’m looking for. How much you asking for her?”

  “That will run you eight grand,” Ed said, “but I’ll throw in a full tank of gas and a wash.”

  Skull was prepared to pay that much since it would have to be on a throwaway credit card, but not to haggle would be suspicious.

  “How about four grand and you forget the wash?”

  Ed whistled. “I can see you are a tough customer. Four grand to my eight grand is quite a drop off. Why don’t we say seven and I throw in a helmet.”

  Skull gazed at the bike longingly with a conflicted look on his face. “The wife would kill me if I bought a bike. Maybe I should just get a cheap car. She told me not to spend more than five.”

  “Has she ever ridden on a Gold Wing?” Ed asked patting the seat behind the driver’s. “I bet once she rides on it, you two will be regular weekend travelers. There’s nothing like a Gold Wing, and the missus will thank you for this later, believe me. Besides, with gas going up every day, this baby will save you plenty.”

  “That’s a lot of money though,” said Skull. “Like I said, my budget is five thousand.”

  Ed looked around as if afraid someone might hear them. “I’ll be losing money, but since you’re down on your luck and I’m a God-fearing man, why not say six and it’s yours?”