by Dirk Patton
“That’s true, missy. Sat at the table, right ‘bouts where you did, an had breakfast with me.”
“You said you’d help me find him. How?”
Titus thought for a moment, absently scratching his unruly beard.
“Well, not rightly sure how ta go ‘bout that. Gotta think on it some. But we’s safe while I do.”
Martinez watched him for a moment, trying to reconcile where the hell the last few months had gone. Giving up, she shook her head and looked at the door into the bathroom. Titus got her meaning, quickly gathering up the old bedding.
“Good lock on that door,” he said. “No hurry for nothin’, so’s take your time, clean up and git some rest.”
He started to slip past Martinez but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Thank you. For everything.”
He held her eyes for a moment before looking away and mumbling, “You’re welcome.”
Leaving her alone, he tossed the soiled sheets onto the floor in the laundry. Opening a beer, he lowered himself into his recliner and lit a cigarette, listening to the faint sound of the shower running. When it shut off, he waited for twenty minutes, but she didn’t come out of the bedroom.
Looking around the main room, he recognized for the first time in a long time just how badly it needed a cleaning. Getting up, he filled several bags with empty beer cans before sweeping up spilled cigarette butts and ash. A couple of hours later, everything was washed or dusted or whatever else needed to be done to make the place presentable.
If the Major had come back, or any other man, he wouldn’t have given a crap about the mess. But his wife had managed to imbue a sense of orderliness in him, even if it had been a running battle between them. With thoughts of her and his daughter, he looked around the now spotless room, feeling better at the thought that even his wife would have been satisfied with its condition.
Going to the extra bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror, surprised at the appearance of the man staring back. With a sigh, he found a pair of scissors and spent nearly an hour trimming his scraggly, gray hair and beard until they resembled the neatly trimmed look he’d maintained before the attacks.
Cranking on the shower, he peeled off his clothes, noticing his own body odor for the first time. Waiting for the water to warm up, he tried to remember the last time he’d bathed, and couldn’t. Getting clean reinvigorated him and cleared his head. Drying off with a towel, he realized he was sobering up for the first time since his wife had turned into one of the infected.
Cleaning the bathroom, he carried his stinking garments to the washer and shoved them in, then added the sheets. With the laundry going, he took a set of fresh clothes from a shelf and got dressed. For the first time in months, he felt a degree of optimism.
Looking around, he spotted the revolver on the table next to his chair. His ticket out of the despair and pain filled existence he’d been living. He’d been within a few beers of sticking the barrel in his mouth when the woman had shown up. Another human being. Someone to break the soul numbing monotony of being completely and utterly alone. Just the few words they’d spoken to each other had been like a lifeline being thrown to rescue him from the swiftly approaching darkness.
“Guess I won’t be needin’ you anytime soon,” he said, picking up the gun and putting it on a shelf in a closet.
Moving into the surveillance room, he started to sit down but turned and went to the kitchen. Returning with two more trash bags, he cleaned up the area before taking a seat at the control console. With painstaking slowness, he worked for several hours. Finally finding what he was searching for, he spent another half an hour reviewing the information.
Excited to have something to tell his guest, he went back to the main room, but the bedroom door was still closed. Deciding it could wait a little longer, he moved to the refrigerator and reached for a beer. As his fingers touched the cold aluminum can, he paused in thought, then slowly closed the door without taking anything. Going to his recliner, he sat down without a drink in his hand for the first time he could remember.
20
Rachel moved as fast as she could across the fields, but being barefoot prevented her from really stretching out and running hard. Still, she was covering a lot of ground with her long legs. If only she’d thought to take the Russian soldier’s boots. Irritated with herself for worrying about what she should have done, she instead focused on the dark line of the horizon to her front.
Frequent glances over her shoulder gave her an occasional glimpse of the lights on the vehicle that was searching for her. Well, she wasn’t sure it was searching for her, but why else would someone be in the exact area driving around in a manner that seemed designed to locate a person on foot. Taking a lesson from John, she would assume they were hostile until proven otherwise.
Thinking about John caused her to nearly stumble due to a loss of focus on her footing. This slowed her, but she couldn’t dismiss him from her mind. As she’d been escorted to the waiting helicopter, she’d seen him surrounded by Russian soldiers with their rifles aimed. Had they figured out who he was? Had they killed him?
She also knew the nerve gas had been released. As they’d pounded their way away from Sydney, Barinov had ordered one of the soldiers to turn on a radio. He wanted to listen to the panicked broadcasts coming out of the city as the civilian population began to fall victim to the horrific chemical attack. Even if John hadn’t been gunned down, how had he survived the aftermath of the gas?
Suppressing a sob of worry for the man she loved, she glanced over her shoulder again. The vehicle lights seemed slightly closer than the last time she’d seen them, but didn’t appear to be on a direct course to her position. Before she looked back to the front, she snagged a toe on a rodent mound and fell onto her face with a small cry.
The impact with the ground knocked the wind from her lungs and momentarily stunned her. It took several seconds before she could draw a breath, then she slowly sat up and spent more time evaluating herself. Her toe that had struck the low mound of dirt throbbed hard enough to make her eyes water and she wasn’t at all sure it wasn’t broken. But that was all that was wrong, other than a few sore spots where she’d landed, so she counted herself lucky and quickly climbed to her feet.
Another glance at the vehicle lights, then she resumed her run. This time she reminded herself to slow to a walk before looking over her shoulder again. In the right circumstances, a tumble like she’d just taken could be fatal. Not that the fall would kill her, but if she were to severely injure an ankle or leg and wasn’t able to move… well, she probably wouldn’t last long in a world that was succumbing to the infected.
But why the hell had the Russians suddenly decided to leave and release the nerve gas on their way out of town? It didn’t make sense. She was confident her charade as a dominatrix hadn’t been detected. What had happened?
Slowing, she took a quick glance behind her, then resumed running, ignoring the pain in her foot.
She’d never even spoken to Barinov. When she was escorted into the building, the tall man had taken her directly to a private elevator which whisked them to the penthouse. He was polished and impeccably mannered, treating her like a visiting lady despite the fact he had to know why she was there.
Well, not why she was there, but why the woman she was impersonating had been arranged. Showing her into a bedroom within Barinov’s apartment, he asked if she would care for a drink. When she declined alcohol, he offered any narcotic of her choice. After overcoming her surprise, she refused. With a nod and smile, he’d left her in the room with the leather satchel that contained the wand which would control Barinov’s implant.
Nerves settled in as she waited for the Russian president to arrive. Repeatedly, she went over in her mind the way Natalie had coached her to behave and what she would need to do to get Barinov into restraints. Once that was accomplished, it would be a simple matter to use the inductive wand to manipulate the implant that controlled his
epilepsy. To kill him.
But time passed without Barinov entering the room. For that matter, no one entered. She was left entirely alone. And the longer this dragged out, the more nervous she grew. After an hour, she decided to try the door and wasn’t terribly surprised to find it was locked from the outside. She wasn’t going anywhere.
Growing more and more frightened as the time passed, she nearly screamed when the knob rattled. Heart threatening to pound out of her chest, she leapt to her feet as the tall man rushed into the room. Without a word, he grabbed her arm in one hand and the satchel with the other before hustling her to the elevator where two armed soldiers waited. From there, a breakneck rush to a waiting helicopter and she was whisked away, staring out the window at John, who was being held at gunpoint.
With a sigh, she slowed to check behind her. The vehicle was definitely closer, but there was no doubt it was on a path that would take it well away from her course. Picking up speed, she only covered a few more yards before slowing to a stop with her eyes focused on the horizon.
Several large trees were silhouetted against the sky. She’d been running across a featureless plain, a mix of agriculture and untilled fields, so the sudden presence of the trees gave her hope. Adjusting her course, she moved at a fast walk, taking long strides and ignoring the discomfort to her bare feet.
As she drew closer, she began having to leap over narrow irrigation channels. It was a warm night and she was thirsty, briefly considering drinking from one of the ditches. The thought was dismissed as soon as she had it. The water had to be teeming with both parasites and bacteria that she wanted nothing to do with.
The outline of a series of low buildings became visible as she continued to approach. Her heart leapt with hope. As long as the area wasn’t infested with infected, she should be able to hide from the people looking for her. And that was if there weren’t any vehicles available for her to take.
Eventually, she reached the edge of a low rise. The trees and buildings sat on its summit, elevated above the surrounding fields. She paused to check on her pursuer as well as listen for any sounds of danger from above. Huddling in the dark, a scent came to her that for all the world reminded her of an expensive perfume.
Adrenaline coursed through her body as she imagined she was catching the scent of a female. But the constantly shifting wind carried it to her from all directions. Realizing she’d been smelling it for some time without consciously recognizing it for what it was, Rachel stood and brought the rifle to her shoulder before climbing the gentle slope.
Reaching the top, she scanned across a large farm house and more than a dozen barns. The scent was even stronger here. Seeing nothing of concern, she moved forward, stepping onto a smooth dirt road that led to an equipment yard with a large collection of farm machinery as well as a small fleet of well-used Toyota trucks.
Curiosity getting the best of her, she detoured to the closest barn, peering at the peeling sign affixed above its entrance. A lavender farm! That was the smell!
Satisfied, she moved silently to the closest truck. The sheet metal was scarred and battered, but the tires were in good shape. This told her the farm owner had cared about function, but not so much what the vehicle looked like.
After another long look around, she opened the door and got in, not surprised to find the keys dangling from the ignition. This was the middle of nowhere. There had probably been no reason to be concerned about one of the trucks being stolen.
Turning the ignition to the on position, she grimaced when a chime began sounding from within the dash. It was a soft sound, but seemed as loud as thunder in the quiet stillness of the night. Holding her breath, she watched the needle on the fuel gauge begin to swing upward, cursing when it stopped at only one-eighth of a tank.
Twisting the key to off, she got out and moved to the next truck, repeating the process. Its fuel state was little better. She kept going down the line, eventually reaching a newer truck that had signage for the farm on its doors. A foreman’s or the owner’s vehicle? Hoping she was due for some good luck, Rachel turned the key on, nearly jumping out of her skin when music suddenly blared from the stereo.
Cursing, she slapped at the radio until finding the right button to shut it off. Taking a calming breath, she checked the fuel gauge. Relief flooded through her when she saw the needle nearly all the way to the full mark. But, with her attention focused on the dash, she didn’t see the female that charged the truck and dove in through the passenger side window with a blood curdling scream.
Recoiling, Rachel used her feet to fend off its attack as she fought with the rifle sling around her shoulders. It was hung on something and she couldn’t bring the muzzle to bear. Kicking wildly at the female, she fumbled with the rifle until finding the button that released it from the sling, brought it around to point in the general direction of the infected and pulled the trigger.
The Russian AKMS rifle spat out a short burst, shredding the female’s neck and chest. Hot blood pumped across Rachel’s bare legs and she was deafened by the report of the weapon within the enclosed cab. But she was alive.
Taking a deep breath, she began to lean forward, intending to shove the infected out of the truck when a strong hand grabbed her hair from behind and savagely yanked her backwards. The screams of the attacking female were muted by her abused ear drums and she couldn’t tell them from her own as she fought.
Reaching over her head, she grabbed the infected’s arm, twisting to pull her neck away from the snapping teeth she knew were already closing in. Fear induced strength and good leverage allowed her to snap the female’s elbow. The hand didn’t release, but she was able to rip away from its weakened grasp and throw herself to the side.
Ending up on top of the infected she’d already killed, Rachel tried to bring the rifle around, but it was too long for the Toyota’s cramped cab. The female with the broken arm surged in through the window, slashing with her nails. Rachel slammed the butt of the weapon into its face, feeling teeth, bone and cartilage shatter, but her attacker was undeterred.
Pounding with the rifle, she freed a hand and fumbled for the ignition. Twisting the key, the engine started easily and she yanked the transmission into gear an instant before the female made another surge and nearly took a chunk out of her arm.
With the engine running, the headlights came on. Running figures were approaching the hood of the truck, but Rachel didn’t have time to count the number of infected bearing down on her. She’d managed to wrap her hand in the female’s hair, keeping the shattered mouth away from her flesh. But that didn’t protect her bare arms which were being slashed and ripped by the infected’s ragged nails.
The Toyota, in gear, was now rolling. But this didn’t help as the upper half of the female’s body was in the cab, her legs kicking ineffectually in the air. Squirming around, Rachel felt with her foot until she found the accelerator. Slamming it to the floor, the truck surged forward. Almost immediately came the sounds of dull thuds as bodies to the front were bulled aside.
Flailing with the steering wheel while fighting off the female, Rachel saw the large harvester at the last possible instant. Sharp implements extended from a boom attached to the front and she steered directly for them. An instant later, there was a horrible screech of sheet metal being slashed open, then the female was ripped away from the cab, leaving a fistful of hair and bloody scalp in Rachel’s grasp.
Just ahead, coming fast, was the slope down to the surrounding fields. Before Rachel could touch the brakes, the speeding truck roared over the edge and went airborne.
21
I had no idea how much later it was when I came awake, shivering. The left side of my body was oddly warm and it took a moment for me to realize that Mavis had snuggled against me as I slept. It was an odd feeling at first, but somehow comforting. Moving carefully so not to wake her, I put my hand down on the dirt floor, surprised when it sank several inches into cold mud.
“Mavis,” I said, shaking her.
She came awake instantly with a sharp intake of breath.
“We’re getting flooded! Light the lamp.”
The pressure of her body disappeared and a moment later there was the flare of a match. Even before the oil lamp was burning, I could see a flood had filled most of the chamber, coming in from the tunnel that led to the harbor. While I hadn’t been sitting directly in it, the dirt beneath me had absorbed the water and turned to a thick morass.
“That’s never happened,” Mavis said, holding the lamp above her head and staring at the small lake.
“Storm must be getting worse,” I said, watching the level increase slightly. “Probably blowing directly against the bluff and pushing water in. We’d better get out of here.”
Getting to my feet, I got the rifle situated on my body, clicked on the light and led the way into the tunnel that ran to the car park. Mavis extinguished the lamp, but brought it along. She’d probably had the same thought I had. We might not be able to come back for it.
“What are we going to do?” she asked in a quiet voice.
“Looks like it’s time to check the apartments in the building above us.”
She didn’t say anything, which was a little odd for her.
“What?” I asked, pausing and looking over my shoulder.
“Bad people live upstairs,” she said, shrugging.
“Whadda you mean, ‘bad people’?”
She shrugged again and didn’t answer.
“Mavis, we’re getting flooded out. If there’s a problem in the building, I need to know.”
“Just assholes,” she said. “No big deal.”
I shook my head, suppressing my frustration with not getting a straight answer.
“Mavis…”
“Okay, fine. They’ve called the cops on me a couple of times. Once, some woman saw me outside and threw garbage at me. Called me a dirty Abo and told me to go back where I belonged or she’d put her dog on me.”