“Nice hatchet, dude. That’s new?” Mack asked.
“Yeah, I got a few new toys.” Duy began to remove his recently acquired arsenal from every nook and cranny of his clothing. “I got some more throwing knives that I keep in my inner coat pockets and I keep my hatchet in a carry holster on my back. This machete is carried in this sheath on my leg and I’ve got another pocket full of these ninja throwing stars. Oh- and finally is my old reliable Bowie knife with a 10-inch clippoint blade.”
“Where are you gonna keep the Bowie?”
“Wherever it will fit. Right now,it’s staying right where you see it, in my hand. I’ve been practicing a lot with these things, throwing them into still and moving targets. I spent a good deal of time unholstering and reholstering them while blindfolded or in the dark so I will be prepared for anything. Even in the pitch black I will be able to maneuver and fight as if it were second nature.”
The cellphone strategically stationed in the center console of the Chevy Avalanche’s cup holder began to vibrate vivaciously. Mack decreased the decibels of the old-school LL Cool J currently pulsating through the car stereo’s amplifier and speakers. Then he took the call.
“Hey, Michelle. How’s it going?”
“Hi, Mack. I was wondering how y’all were doing and where you were at?” “Oh, we are doing all right. Moving right along and coming up on Nashville here pretty
soon.”
“Excellent! And exactly where are you going again?”
“Thinking we will probably start our search in Rhode Island. We will start by checking
Jake’s hometown to see if anyone has heard from him at all lately. If that fails, then I know he has connections in Mass too.” “Well, Mack, I also wanted to give you some new information I just received in a conference call. It seems as if Uncle Sam has developed some new teams, called Containment Squads. They respond to areas highly contaminated to collect and quarantine those infected. But they are keeping this information from the general public. Outwardly, they still seem to be in denial about the whole infection thing.
“They are tracking and a ttempting to locate all of the offspring of the people who were in the military and took some socalled “Zeus Juice.” They are also seeking any offspring of those who were experimented on in some secret labs. Apparently, there were at least two different experimentation laboratories, one in Florida and another somewhere on the west coast. Probably in California.
“These descendants are on a list to be hunted down. They will be dragged out of their houses to either be taken away and quarantined or, if there are no witnesses around, be executed on the spot. It’s faster, easier, and cheaper than housing them in their Nazi death camp-like quarantine sheds.”
Mack was astonished by the revelation. “Dang. I had no i dea this was all going on. What do these ‘Containment Squad’ guys look like? Are they dressed like SWAT dudes and rolling around town in armored cars?”
“They wear face masks and haz -mat suits, with gun belts over the top and their governmentissued Sig 45’s within reach. They drive unmarked silver, full sized Ford Transit cargo vans with no side or rear windows. They are always moving around all stealthlike”, Michelle said.
“These sound like some bad dudes, too. This one cop in Florida was in on the conf erence call. He told a story about a woman who had been abducted and held in the Florida lab. They injected her with the virus. This woman later escaped the facility along with all the other captives.”
Michelle continued. “She later became pregnant and ha d a baby girl. But the same woman eventually was killed by the baby’s father after the woman turned into a zombie. She was about to eat the baby when the father shot the lady down.
“Then just a few days ago, the team hunted down that father and the little baby girl in Winter Haven, Florida. At a trailer park. Tips led them to this one trailer, so they began pounding on the door. They demanded to be let in under the authority of the President of the United States.
“The dad told the little girl that it was time to play hide-and-seek. He said that she was ‘IT.’ He told her to climb down through the hidden trap door underneath the rug, and into a dark empty hole nestled into the ground, directly below the trailer. He told her to stay put and be as still and quiet as possible. He told her to stay that way until he came for her.
“The Containment Squad kicked open the door and found the father. He refused to reveal the whereabouts of his daughter. The team slaughtered the man where he stood, blasting him to smithereens with their automatic weapons. They eventually found the child, who was now crying uncontrollably under the trailer.
“They pulled that little girl out of that hole in the ground below the trailer. She has not been seen since,” Michelle said as she shook her head.
Mack recalled the disturbing story Rich had passionately imparted on his video tape. He disclosed the fact that years earlier he had been held against his will in that same Florida lab. Baby Carson, Rich’s only offspring, could undoubtedly be on that Containment Squad list, just like that little girl in the Winter Haven trailer park.
The lustful Latina continued her dialogue as Mack and Dew-man listened intently. Her voice projected loudly over Mack’s phone speaker.
“Mack, you guys really need to be careful out there. Every day there are more and more sightings and stories about these creatures. They even got one of the guys on one of my transport teams.”
“No way! What the hell happened?” Duy asked.
“Well, there’s a small three-bedroom house in a fairly quiet North Mesquite neighborhood. The house was occupied by a single mother of one latchkey twelve-year-old boy named Braylon.
“Apparently, a few days ago, Braylon’s pet tabby cat named ‘Tiger’ disappeared after he went out the doggy door, as he normally did. However, uncharacteristically, he had not returned for several days.
“But on this day, the feline finally returned. It was in the early evening hours and the kid was home alone playing Xbox on the living room couch. Braylon was so fixated on the video game he was playing with his online friends, that he failed to notice Tiger stumbling through the pet door.
“The cat wasted no time before attacking the kid, lunging at and biting his jugular vein. Tiger began feasting on the kid’s face and the juvenile began hemorrhaging profusely, unable to react.
Michelle continued. “The mom came home an hour or so later to find junior sitting on the couch, staring at a blank television screen. He was still holding the Xbox remote, but it was now covered with a black sludgy substance with the thickness and texture of coagulated blood.
“Before his mother could realize what was happening, Braylon attacked her. He killed her violently, chomping on her flesh as if she was made of Pizza Rolls. The neighbors heard her screaming and yelling and they called the cops. Police responded quickly and destroyed both the kid and his mom. But there was no report of any cat being present.
“So, then we got a call from Mesquite PD saying they had a couple of bodies for us to pick up. I dispatched Skip and Byron to that same house, and they responded. As they were putting Braylon on the body cart to take him to the car, the Tiger cat strolled back in through the puppy door.
“The once domestic tabby appeared as if he had been in a fight. He was covered with wounds and blood. His orange and white fur was falling out in clumps and his skin was rotting and stank of corrosion. Bugs were colonizing in the corroding flesh. Tiger used his front claws to grab Skip’s ankle, and he latched on tightly. Hemounted Skip’s leg as if he was climbing a tree.
“Oh, fuck.” Mack uttered. Michelle nodded. “The Tiger zombie gnawed at Skip’s inner thigh and groin, causing blood to spray out in thick splashes. Skip frantically tried to shake the hellcat off his leg, without success.
“Skip’s partner, Devin, took off running. He offered no assistance to his partner and never looked back. He called us the next day to say he was quitting the job.”
“Oh my god! So, what happened to Skip afte
r that?” the Dew-man asked.
“No idea. He’s still out there somewhere as far as we know. So is the cat.”
“I had to hire a new team of guys to take their place. I found a couple of young dudes who were already friends and applied for this job at the same time. Their names are Bobby and La Keith, but I call them Beavis and Butthead. They are both going through med school and are really into learning as much as possible about this recent epidemic.”
“Michelle, thank you so much for the update,” Mack said. “Sounds like things are getting pretty crazy everywhere!”
“No problem. You guys stay safe and keep me abreast of your location so I can be sure you’re still okay!”
As soon as Michelle disconnected, Mack attempted to call Amanda to tell her about the “Containment Squad.” Mack realized that Carson, being the offspring of a person who had been experimented on in the Florida lab (his father, Rich), was in grave danger. Amanda must be made aware so that she and Austin could keep the toddler hidden and safe.
Mack also figured it was time to let Amanda know that there was a possibility that Jake was still alive. He had waited out of fear of providing her with some false hope. But as time elapsed, he was becoming more and more able to confirm these suspicions.
Mack tried to call Amanda but was unable to get through. He was able to leave her the following voice message.
“Hey Amanda, it’s Mack. I just got some information from Michelle. There are indications that Carson is in danger. And you could be as well. It is dire for you and Carson to stay hidden somewhere. And...there’s something else I need to tell you. It’s important. Call me back! And be careful!”
Mack had decided not to mention his hunch about Jake. That would have to wait until he could talk to her on the phone or in person. He needed to ensure she was sitting down when he revealed that news.
Chapter Twenty-Two - Dead on Their Feet
North East Pennsylvania
Jake’s faith in mankind was somewhat renewed. He left Loyalsock Park in a northeasterly direction, headed for the great state of Massachusetts. There, Jake had an old buddy from their high school days. A guy named Vinny DeAngelo. Vinny had family in Providence and Cranston who were rumored to be big-time players in the local mafia scene. Vinny moved up to Boston after high school, supposedly to continue in the family business and to become established in his own part of town.
But before Jake even started to locate his old friend, he would have to dump this stolen Appalachian-special pickup truck. He also needed a new set of clothes that would be more appropriate at his next stop. That hillbilly truck, grease-stained wifebeater, and “Get er’ done” ballcap were not going to work up here in the Northeast.
Not only that, this wardrobe was doused in putrid body fluids and exuded a noxious odor. If these didn’t draw unnecessary attention and make Jake stand out in a crowd, nothing else would.
Jake stopped in Brookline, a city just west of Beantown. There he found a thrift store on the main strip and parked the West Virginia Caddy behind a dumpster at the rear of the business. He ran inside and quickly used cash to purchase a more commodious attire. He picked out a black toboggan hat, a used green and red striped Christmas-lookingsweater, a torn pair of Levi’s acid-washed jeans, and an old worn-out black pleather jacket.
He also acquired a decent pair of pre-owned sneakers. They still had a lot of wear left and were comfortable. Now in possession of his new costume and in the store’s bathroom, Jake disposed of his old soiled garb in the trash can. He put on his new clothes and assumed his new identity, one that was better suited for this neck of the woods. He decided to adopt the name “Sal Armano.”
He had no fake identification or documents to accompany his new name, so he would have to improvise as best as he could. While paying for his new digs at the thrift store counter, a black and white patrol car drove slowly past the front of the store. Jake was unsure if the cop was onto him or just performing random patrols. So, Jake decided to abandon his plan of driving the pickup truck into the Charles River, or burning it. Neither of those ideas was worth the risk of being captured in the process.
But then Jake remembered that he had left his weapons behind in the old Chevrolet. He would need some way to defend himself if he were to get in a jam while trying to infiltrate the mafia. Weapons would also be essential should any more of these “draggers” show up.
This thrift store had a small dishware/dining area toward the back of the store. Jake backpeddled to that area while keeping eyes on the plate glass window with a view of the street in front. Two large matching kitchen knives with ten-inch blades and wooden handles would have to serve as his new weapons. He also grabbed a cheap blonde hair-dying kit and returned to the checkout area of the store. There he was able to scrounge up enough change to cover the cost.
Jake grabbed his purchases, waited a minute until the squad car was out of eyeshot, and then he exited the store. He set out on foot in the opposite direction from which the cop was headed. Jake now had no money to flag a cab to get into Boston. It was time to see how well his New Balance sneaker purchase would pay off.
Having walked many miles and now approaching the city, Jake got the feeling that the police were not looking for him yet. But it was just a matter of time until the stolen truck behind the thrift store dumpster was located. And then the cops would be crawling all over the place, hot on his trail.
He was doing well for now; the cool New England February temperatures were a nice change of pace. And as much as Jake was walking, he was starting to work up a slight sweat. He was also happy that he was not lugging around that large sickle and shotgun. His two new twin blades were much lighter and more appropriate for a foot traveler. Jake put one knife in each of his two inner pockets of his pleather jacket and continued his journey.
The Texas prison escapee k new he had to find shelter as soon as possible. He didn’t know exactly where in Boston to start his search for Vinny, but he figured “Southie” was as good a place as any. “Southie” is a densely populated neighborhood in South Boston, known as a good old working-class, Irish American neighborhood.
However, it is also home to many of those who make their living in the crime syndicate business. Jake made his way east through Dorchester Heights, one of the oldest and most historic neighborhoods in the United States. He had no idea he was following in decade-old footsteps once laid by George Washington. Washington had passed through while in the process of forcing British troops to evacuate during the American Revolutionary War.
A new Cumberland Farms convenience store was also along the route, and Jake ducked inside to take advantage of the restroom mirror. There he cut several locks of his hair from his head and subsequently applied the hair dye. Before long, he was now a bleached blonde.
Jake exited the store with his newfound “hair done in a blender” look as he approached Old Colony Avenue. The street was lined with lofty venerable brownstone buildings on each side. They loomed pleasantly, overlooking the cobblestone brick roadway.
Jake stumbled across a hole-in-thewall pool hall called “The Eight Ball.” It was a name that he recognized as a place Vinny would hang out at back in the day.
Jake walked into the front door and immediately had to pause for his pupils to adjust. There was but a minuscule amount of light emerging from the darkness within the game room. The strong smell of burning marijuana immediately smacked Jake in the face. A cloud of smokefrom the green leaf overwhelmed his eyes, nose, and mouth. Jake’s eyes began to tear up and he started to cough. A pale white male sitting on a bar stool just inside the entrance of the establishment made eye contact with him.
This doorman was built like one of those inflatable punching bags for kids. He was rounder and wider at the bottom, making him nearly impossible to tip over. This dingy door guy was built like a Weeble. He was about five feet and four inches tall and wider than that around his waist. He was clad in Celtics T-shirt and black sweatpants with holes and was smoking what smell
ed like a very cheap cigar.
He stood up slowly from his perch to ascertain why this stranger had entered the private club.
“What the fuck you want?” he demanded. He stood in front of Jake and looked upwards with his head only reaching just below Jake’s chin.
Jake restrained himself from responding as he normally would in a situation such as this. But he realized that if he wanted to locate his buddy Vinny, he was going to have to play nice. Or at least somewhat nice.
“I’m lookin’ for a dude named Vinny DeAngelo. You know where I might find him? I owe him some money.”
The rotund door guy chirped, “Give me the fuckin’ money. I’ll make sure he gets it.” Jake declined the offer. “Nah, I think I’d rather pay Vinny face to face.”
“How much you talkin’ about? You must be a workin’ girl. You been saving up your trick money, bitch?” he asked.
Jake quickly disengaged from his “play nice” game plan and responded appropriately.
“Who the fuck are you callin’ a bitch, you mutha fuckin’ troll! Now tell me where Vinny’s at before I punt your ass out that fuckin’ window!”
The astonished door-keep reached behind him with his right hand. He grasped for something from the top of a nearby cigarette pack vending machine. Duct tape covered a ten-inch long crack on the glass surface of the vendy. The door man revealed in his hand an empty Sam Adams Winter Lager beer bottle and prepared to smash it across Jake’s left cheek.
Jake used his left hand to block the attack. He then followed that up by thrusting his right fist repeatedly into the lardcovered rib cage on his assailant’s left side. Suddenly, emerging from the smoke floating around the rear of the brown nicotine encrusted pool hall, were three larger, less Weeble-like goons. These three were all dressed similarly to their now-rib-fractured door man comrade.
Carrying pool cues in their left hands and each holding a pool ball in their right hand, the three goons were as tall as Jake but not nearly as chiseled. The elder of the trio said, “you wanna see Vinny so bad? We’ll take you to see Vinny, you lousy fuck.”
Wicked Awake Page 20