Blue Plague The Fall

by Watson, Thomas A.

  They were two miles from Market Street when Bruce saw a group of infected running toward them on the road. Shifting down, Bruce stomped on the gas, heading toward the small mob.

  “This is not the beast,” Mike reminded Bruce as he steered the car toward them.

  When the small mob was only ten yards away, Bruce yanked the emergency brake up, cranking the steering wheel to the left. The little Mini whipped around, and Bruce dropped to reverse, stomping on the gas.

  Thumps of bodies sounded as Bruce plowed the Mini backward through the group. When the thumps started getting fewer, Bruce spun the steering wheel, whipping the front around and sending several infected airborne. Never losing forward momentum, Bruce shoved the shifter in third, dumping the clutch. The tires smoked until, gripping the asphalt shooting the Mini forward.

  Bruce had to dodge several more that wandered onto the road, only clipping a few leaving more dents on the Mini. Coming up to Market, the road was blocked with a large pile-up. Bruce did not even hit the brakes as he turned the wheel, jumping the curb to the sidewalk. Driving down the sidewalk, Bruce clipped an infected woman, sending her airborne. She landed on the hood as Bruce sped down the sidewalk. The infected woman looked through the window at them, hissing. Lifting his hand off the gearshift, Bruce shot her the finger. When the Mini reached the end of the sidewalk, it went airborne. Landing with a shower of sparks, the infected woman bounced on the hood. Bruce spun the wheel, turning left down Market, and the woman slid off, hitting the pavement hard.

  Continuing the wild ride, Cade was laughing with all the bouncing and weaving down the road. Angela and Alex each had an arm around him to comfort Cade, but to him this was just a fun ride. Bruce sped up to eighty miles per hour as they crossed Herne, the last large intersection they would go through. Just as they cleared the intersection, Mike’s window exploded from a gunshot, showering him in glass.

  Cade stopped laughing at the sound of the gunshot. Bruce floored the gas, running the speedometer up to a hundred miles per hour, weaving back and forth across the two lanes. Looking in his mirror, Bruce thought he saw movement coming out of a pharmacy. Off in the distance, they could hear large explosions through Mike’s blown-out window.

  “Keep down in case they come out on the road,” Bruce said, wishing for a rocket engine under the hood.

  “Would you please quite weaving so much?” Mike pleaded, almost pulling the “oh shit” handle off the roof.

  “Can’t. It is a lot harder to hit a moving target,” Bruce replied, passing a stalled semi in the outside lane then whipping back in front of it. He would use it as a shield from whoever shot at them. Coming up on the ramp, Bruce slowed to sixty miles per hour, making the turn like the Mini was on rails then flooring the Mini again, pulling onto the interstate. The Red River Bridge was right in front of them. As Bruce started to reach the peak, he lifted his foot off the gas. When they topped the bridge, he slammed on the brakes, pulled the emergency brake, and turned the wheel hard to the right. There was a large pile-up in front of them, and they had stopped less than a foot from a car that was upside down. They sat there for a few seconds with the engine idling.

  “The westbound side is clear,” Bruce said, motioning to the other side of the bridge over the concrete divider.

  He released the brake, put it in first, popped the clutch, and headed back down the bridge. At the bottom of the bridge, he eased the Mini on the grass, crossing the median. Once he was back on pavement, he floored the Mini, squealing the tires with each change of the gears. “Kind of feels weird going the wrong direction on the interstate,” Bruce said to all of them. His passengers were all wide-eyed, wanting the amusement ride to end. Once they cleared the bridge, Bruce just stayed on the westbound side. When Bruce could see for a distance, he ran the Mini up to 120 miles per hour, flooring the gas.

  “Bruce, if we go much faster, we are going to go back in time,” Mike yelled with the wind beating in the open window.

  “Hard to hit a fast target, brother,” Bruce yelled back. “This is as fast as it will go with all of the weight in it. Jake and I had it up to 140 after we souped up the engine. Unless we hit the nitro,” Bruce said, yelling at Mike to be heard over the air coming through the broken window. Mike snapped his head, looking at Bruce with the mention of nitro.

  As they ran through Bossier off to the right, they could see planes taking off from the Air Force base. They could see other planes making passes in the distance, dropping bombs and making gun runs in Bossier and Shreveport. A helicopter flew over them heading to the base. Before they lost sight of the chopper, they saw it release several missiles off of its side.

  Seeing that, Bruce reached up, flipping the nitro switch and giving Mike a heart attack. When the nitro hit the engine, it let out a loud whine, pinning everyone to the seats and Bruce let out another rebel yell. The speedometer slammed down on 140, the max, as the Mini shot down the interstate.

  As they approached the Haughton exit, Bruce yelled, “When we stop, Angela, you stay in the car with Cade. I want everyone to get out and put on a vest we took from the soldiers and grab a weapon. Alex, after you get yours on, get Cade, then Angela, you put on the last vest and weapon. I am going to lead, you two stay in the middle. Mike, you protect our six.”

  Everyone nodded as Bruce pulled off the interstate, turning off the nitro. The Mini shot through intersection into the race track parking lot, going airborne several times. It was full of vehicles parked in every direction. Bruce weaved through the lot until he came to the far side of the parking lot that bordered I-20. He pulled up to the horse area and stopped the car in a cloud of smoke.

  “Is everyone all right?” Bruce asked, grabbing his door handle.

  “I don’t know. Are we finished?” Alex asked, waiting for the car to fly again.

  A grinning Bruce nodded, jumping out and heading to the back of the Mini. He grabbed a vest and put it on, ignoring the blood he felt. He then grabbed the SAW, making sure the belt had not kinked and a round was chambered then flicking the safety off. He shoved his .45 with the suppressor still attached inside the vest.

  Mike got out and put on a vest, grabbing an M-4 with a 203, with Alex doing the same. Mike ran over the weapon, making sure it was loaded and a grenade was in the tube. Alex only knew how to check the M-4 and left the 203 alone. Then Alex went to the door, grabbing Cade as Angela went to the back and put on a vest and grabbed a plain M-4. With her little frame, the vest swallowed her, with the bottom stopping at her thighs. She checked the M-4 like Mike had instructed her and Alex when they had gone to the car and waited on Bruce. Alex kept Cade as they walked to the front of the Mini where Bruce was standing.

  Bruce looked at the Mini with a little sadness. It was covered in dents, and steam was pouring out from under the body. Several different fluids were pooling under the engine. With regret, Bruce turned and looked around. He could not see anyone, but he felt like someone was watching them. Turning back to look the way they had come, he could see figures walking toward them and a few running.

  He turned to the group. “Don’t fire unless you have to. Remember, infected are attracted to sound,” he said as another explosion shook the ground. Bruce reached inside the Mini, taking the information packet out of the glove box with the insurance and information. Tucking it in his shirt, Bruce just had the feeling they were being watched, and he did not want to leave an address behind.

  Nodding at Mike, Bruce turned and started to walk along the side of the building that housed the stands for the racetrack. He adjusted the SAW until it hung loosely off his shoulder pointing forward. As the group walked in the shadow of the building, a door opened in front of them on the side of the building. Four thugs walked out with pants down to the knees. One held a pump shotgun, and two others held what looked like .22s, rifles, with the last one holding a bat. The one with the shotgun acted like the leader. They stood shoulder to shoulder as the leader held up his hand.

  “Now, you bitches, we want some of th
e guns you have. Since we are hardcore gangsters, we could kill you and take them, but if we kill you the blues will show up with the gunshots. So just put the guns down and run off like punks,” he said, with the others laughing.

  “Blues?” Bruce asked in a flat tone.

  “Infected, you stupid motherfucker. Now hurry up, we know you white motherfuckers can’t shoot someone,” head thug said, flashing his gold front teeth.

  “You need to leave,” Bruce warned.

  “I’m fixing to take the bitch and-,” he started to say as Bruce raised the SAW, pulling the trigger. Moving the gun from side to side, he hit all four in the chests and abdomens. Releasing the trigger, Bruce stared at the thugs squirming on the ground yelling, with hot brass rolling around his feet. His ears were ringing, so it took a few seconds to hear Cade crying.

  He turned and looked at everyone. Cade had his face buried in Alex’s chest, with his hands over his ears, crying. The only weird look he got was from Mike like, ‘Why did you even have to talk?’

  “We have got to move,” Bruce told them, turning as he took off at a slow jog. The lack of sleep was taking its toll on him and the others. He did not want to tell them that he had already had some visual hallucinations. On the interstate, he swore he passed a monkey riding a hippo. They had to get some sleep before they made a mistake that would kill them.

  They got to the back of the racetrack and walked into the woods. Walking through the woods, they could see houses through breaks in the trees. They would occasionally hear a scream or gunfire coming from around them, but they continued forward. Then they would hear an explosion from Shreveport. They came out of the trees to the road that went to the trailer park. Bruce turned and looked at everyone, whispering to stay close. The entrance to the trailer park was only a hundred yards down the road, which they ran.

  When they entered the trailer park, they ran to the closest trailer and crouched down beside it, listening. The park had three rows like teeth of a fork; each had trailers on each side. There were over a hundred and fifty trailers in this park, and their trailer was on the last fork at the end of the lane.

  Bruce stood and told everyone to stay close as he slung the SAW across his back and pulled out the .45. The easiest way would have been to cut through the rows, but many of the trailers had fences around the yards, so Bruce took off down the front to the last lane with everyone in single file. They turned into the last lane at a fast jog and continued to the end until they made it to the trailer. Everyone came in under the carport awning. Bruce motioned Mike to open the door.

  Mike reached into his messenger bag and pulled out the keys and started to turn the three locks. He noticed several new dents in the door but did not think anything of it. As he turned the last lock, they heard a scream from a trailer behind them. They all dropped down to their knees. Mike opened the door, motioning Alex and Angela to get inside with Cade. They ran past him up the stairs into the trailer. Mike then called for Bruce to come over.

  “Where do you think it came from?” Mike asked.

  “Behind us to the left. One of the trailers there,” Bruce replied looking in that direction.

  “Well, let’s get inside, brother,” Mike said, waiting for Bruce.

  “No, I’m going to see what that was,” Bruce told him, taking the SAW off and handing it to Mike.

  “Bruce, we are physically exhausted. We have to rest,” Mike said firmly.

  “Mike, get your ass inside and wait for me. If I’m not back in a few hours then I won’t be back. If I come running, get ready to leave fast,” Bruce told him.

  “You have an hour then I’m coming for you,” Mike popped off, really wanting to shake some reason into Bruce.

  “You will not come after me. Someone has to make it back,” Bruce said in a harsh tone.

  “Then I guess you better make it back. Bruce, just remember, you can boss a lot of people but not me,” Mike replied flatly. “I follow you because I love you and believe in you. Not because I’m a subordinate to you.”

  “I’m sorry, brother,” Bruce apologized, looking at Mike. “I will be back shortly.”

  Bruce headed to the backyard. There was a six-foot wood fence around the yard, and he approached the fence, pausing and listening. He did not hear anything close, so with his pistol in his right hand, he jumped over the fence and landed in a crouch behind a trailer. Staying low, he sat and listened. He heard the scream again and knew it came from the next trailer over on his left. Still staying low, he moved behind the trailer to his front. The scream was coming from the next one. He stopped at the corner of the trailer and looked around the corner. He saw a Cadillac Escalade parked on the street in front of the trailer with the screams. Bruce crept up to what he believed should be the living room window, glancing inside quickly then pulling his head back. There were three men standing around the room with two people on the floor.

  He could make a guess as to what was happening but pushed it out of his mind. With his mind already having trouble holding a thought, Bruce had to stay focused. Circling the trailer, Bruce eased up the steps to the back door. Reaching the top, he put his hand on the doorknob and said a little prayer as he turned it. The knob turned as he eased the door open, moving inside quickly then closing the door gently before someone noticed the light it let in. He held his .45 in a two-handed grip, easing down the hall.

  What he saw would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. A young woman was laid out on the floor of the living room with a white man no older than twenty-five raping her. Standing all around her were three of the punk’s buddies, cheering him on. One of the buddies was holding a naked little girl around ten by the wrist. Just then the one holding the little girl told the crying woman, “Bitch, you better make us like it, or we are going to start on your daughter soon,” he threatened as they all laughed when the mother started pleading for her child.

  Bruce had seen and heard enough for a lifetime of nightmares. Lining up the sights with the closest buddy’s head, Bruce pulled the trigger. The .45 coughed once, causing the one holding the little girl to look up from the show as his buddy hit the floor. All he got to see was a flash as a .45 slug hit him between the eyes. As the first man hit the floor, the last buddy standing turned to the hall and was shot before he even got to see Bruce. The man raping the lady on the floor never paid any attention. A .45 with a suppressor is not silent; it’s about as loud as a single clap of the hands. But this man never even heard it.

  The small girl was staring at Bruce when he walked up and kicked the man in the side of the face, knocking him off the woman. He rolled off, thinking one of his buddies had done it until he saw Bruce move toward him. He raised his hands to protect himself from Bruce, but it was too late. Bruce raised his foot, stomping on the man’s face, knocking him out. The little girl ran to her mother, hugging her as they cried softly together.

  Rage was flowing through Bruce like he had felt long ago, and it felt good. He rolled the rapist onto his stomach, pulling out his knife and stuffing his pistol in his vest. He ran his left hand down the rapist’s spine until he got to an area between the top of his shoulder blades. Bruce the rammed the tip of the knife into the rapist’s spine, severing it as the man screamed but did not move. Bruce turned to the mother and child, both naked holding each other. Bruce put his knife up, holding up his hands, showing them he meant no harm to them. The mother let out a long breath and started crying again. Bruce started toward her when he looked down at her right arm and saw a bite mark. It looked at least one day old and was very small, like a child’s bite.

  “Did the assholes do that, ma’am?” Bruce asked the mother.

  “No, one of the kids in the neighborhood did yesterday when I went to help someone. We hid while the Army came making everyone leave. Then one of the ladies at the front of the park was attacked by some infected kids. I tried to help her but couldn’t save her and still got bitten. My name is Karen Summers. Are you one of the doctors and nurses who stay on the next row?”
she asked Bruce with hope on her face.

  “Yes, I am. My name is Bruce Williams. Is the little one bit also?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “No, she was inside. Her name is Bridgett,” Karen said. She looked up at Bruce with tears running down her face and said, “I prayed for you, I want you to know. I asked God to send someone to rescue Bridgett, and He answered my prayers. In the middle of this hell, He answered my prayers. Bruce, I have to ask you please. I need you to take Bridgett and protect her for me. I know I have no right to ask except as a mother,” Karen pleaded to Bruce.

  “No, Mama, I don’t want to leave you,” Bridgett cried.

  Karen pulled her back, looking the little girl in the face. “Mama is sick and is going to turn into one of those monster blue people soon. I will hurt you. You have seen it. Now I want you to be quiet while I talk to Mr. Bruce, okay,” Karen said to the little girl.

  “Bruce, I don’t have long. I can feel my body changing. Please give me an answer,” Karen begged.

  Bruce looked at Karen. She had made no effort in covering herself. Her only concern was her little girl. Bruce nodded his head yes and said, “You have to tell her to do what I say no matter what. If I say run she runs till she drops, she must obey what I say so she doesn’t get us killed.” Bruce stated his condition.

  “Bridgett, I want you to listen to me. From now on, you are to do exactly as Bruce says. He is your parent and guardian now. No matter what he says, you are to do it, okay?” Karen said to her in a pleading voice. “Promise me.”

  “I promise, Mama,” the little girl cried.

  “Will you help me to the bedroom, Bruce? I don’t feel good.” Karen said. “They say you can’t feel the turn, but I swear I do. It’s like being drained of life but with no pain.”

  Bruce knelt down next to her, picking her up, taking her to the back bedroom, placing her in the bed, and covering her up. The little girl followed him into the room. Bruce looked down at her. “Bridgett, do you have a backpack and some good walking boots?” he asked.