“Were you speeding?”
“I don't think so. I was just kind of driving around looking for clear streets.”
“Mmm huh.” She seemed to understand, but she said nothing further. She rolled down her window, directly behind his seat. Liam assumed it was so she could talk to the officer herself.
Let her deal with it.
Always respectful of law and order, he pulled over as quickly as he could. He had his seatbelt on, so he felt confident he had covered all his bases. He looked in the back seat to see if anything was out of the ordinary. The guns might cause trouble. He took his out of his waistband and stuffed it next to the seat by the middle console. The other was safely hidden in his backpack next to Grandma.
A doubt nagged at him—a lesson from his books—but he admitted that feeling always seemed to be in his head now. He'd never been pulled over, so he had no frame of reference of how it should go.
He didn't expect the gun in his face, followed by a calm voice asking for his money.
“I'll take your wallet, thank you very much.”
The dark man wasn't a police officer—the gold chains and multiple watches were big clues, if the gun in the face wasn't hint enough.
Liam held his hands up to signify compliance. He said his wallet was in his right front pocket.
“Well get it, I don't have all day.” The man gave a little giggle at his statement; then he seemed to notice the blood on the passenger seat and the foot sitting prominently on the floorboard.
Why did I leave that there?
“Looks like you had a passenger. What happened to him?”
“I don't know, sir. It was there before we jumped in the car.”
“We?” The man noticed the small woman sitting quietly in the back seat. He moved a step closer to the back, so he could see directly into the interior.
“Well, well. I'll take that fancy necklace, Miss Daisy. And that backpack looks quite juicy.” It was lying open at that moment, the snacks and drinks clearly visible. Liam silently cursed himself again for being so dumb.
“No, Grandma needs her meds. Please don't take it.”
“When I need your opinion, I'll ask for it, boy.” He slapped Liam's head by reaching inside the back window.
Liam knew it was stupid to think it, but he didn't want to be taken advantage of like this. Instead of being scared, it made him angry.
Grandma, meanwhile, was gathering the pack by forcing in all the contents that had spilled out.
“Sir, please leave her medications. You can have the rest.” He thought he was being smart. She didn't take any irreplaceable prescription meds, but maybe the guy would feel sympathy.
The man moved back to the front, directly outside Liam's window.
“You don't get it. I'm taking it all! If you say another word … ” He jiggled the pistol menacingly.
Grandma piped up, “I'm getting it all together for you.”
Liam sat stewing in his impotence. Can I start the car and speed off without getting shot? Probably not. But maybe if I push him back first … I've been lucky so far.
He shoved the door open to push the guy backward. It didn't surprise the thief at all. The man was so agile that he helped pull the door open, side-stepped, knocked Liam dizzy with a stiff punch, then dragged him out of the car onto the street.
Liam heard the soft murmur of Grandma's voice saying, “I have your backpack ready, sir.” Then he blacked out.
3
Liam woke up lying face down on warm asphalt. One side of his face was in excruciating pain, but he could move his jaw and didn't feel anything crunchy in his mouth.
Still dazed, he staggered to his feet and saw Grandma sitting in the back seat, her head lolling to one side. She'd put on a flowery head scarf, but it had come undone and sat flatly over her head.
Oh, God, don’t let her be dead!
He ran to her window and heard a soft, nasal sound coming from her. She was asleep.
Relieved, he leaned against her door. His head was throbbing, and the flashing blue lights from the police car parked behind them made it worse.
Then everything came rushing back. He looked around for the man with the gun, sending another wave of pain through his aching head, but he steadied himself against the car and noticed the backpack was still resting beside Grandma on the car seat.
Then, he saw feet sticking out from behind the car.
Carefully, he moved back toward the rear. The thief was lying on his back between both vehicles; his eye was a bloody mess, but otherwise his face and the rest of his body looked normal. He wasn't infected or anything. But he was very dead.
How did I miss seeing him before? Too scared about Grandma, I guess.
He looked around for a Good Samaritan in a high window but didn’t see anyone who might have saved them by killing their assailant. Cars moved on distant streets, but no one seemed interested in him. He thought about saying a prayer of thanks for his good fortune, but like so many false starts in his recent past, he didn't know if he believed his prayer would be heard by anyone. He secretly hoped there was someone listening. Perhaps even the same God Grandma believed in.
For now, he said a quick “thank you” to anyone who would listen and jumped back into Angie's car to start it up.
He thought about going back to check out the cop car but didn't like the idea of stealing from anyone. Plus, if he was caught ransacking a police car ...
Instead, he put his ride in gear and drove quickly away from the scene. It had all happened so fast he hadn’t had time to be afraid. He saw himself in the rearview mirror as he drove and realized … he was looking at a survivor. He just survived an encounter with a hardened criminal. He survived multiple encounters with Angie, the plague victim. He even survived falling down a flight of stairs.
But it all seemed so random. He knew any of those incidents could have ended his life, making this whole survival schtick the mockery he knew it to be. He saw the survivors of this thing as big, hulking men carrying large guns, sharp swords, and wearing full police riot gear. How else could anyone truly survive such crazy times?
He wore jeans and a lime-green Mountain Dew t-shirt, and his 104-year-old partner in survival was dressed in a light blue pantsuit, complemented by a plain metal cane. Hardly the stuff of legend.
Whoop de do. We've survived the twenty-four hours since the sirens.
He tried to get back into the important task of driving. He found the highway again and was disappointed to see the traffic remained stopped. The memory of the gun barrel between his eyes buzzed as he observed cars continuing to pour off the exit ramp, into the streets of this part of the city. Streets that were nearly clogged. It wouldn't be long before everything was in total gridlock. Before he was trapped.
He turned the car around to give himself some open space because he needed a chance to think through his next move. They weren't going to make it driving south on the highway or any of the side roads. He pulled over into an empty parking lot, far from anyone or anything that could harm them. He again remembered the gun in his face but ignored it. He aggressively scanned for threats as he tried to concentrate.
Could they walk out of the city? He'd seen many people walking along the highway, but how far could Grandma go on foot? She could walk pretty well for her age, and he'd seen her walk for short distances without any cane at all. But those were rare instances when she was at 100% health and rest. Now, she could barely stay awake while sitting in his back seat.
He thought again about the gun in his face but pushed it back with a few calming breaths.
“How far could we both get on foot?” he whispered.
Not far.
As he sat there, he found himself unable to further ignore the incident with the thief. Of having the business end of a gun touch his nose. Of being punched. Of being yanked out of the car and tossed to the ground. His hands started shaking, so he gripped the wheel.
How close to death did I come?
He imag
ined himself being shot dead. Oddly, he thought of his parents, and how they'd never know how he died. He imagined Grandma getting pulled out next. He imagined ...
NO! I will not let that happen!
He silently wept. He couldn't help himself. He was slightly embarrassed Grandma might hear him, but once it started, he was unable to check it. His head collapsed on the steering wheel as he let the emotions of the past day consume him.
In the back, Grandma slept on.
For the first time in his life, he envied her.
Chapter 7: Maple Syrup
Liam sat, exhausted, in the front seat of the car. His tears had dried, and he found himself staring out the front window. It hadn't been long since he'd pulled over. Glancing back, Grandma was still asleep.
He attempted to move beyond the botched robbery. He needed to look forward. Time for the “big guy pants,” as his dad would say.
He turned on the radio again.
Did they say all the bridges to Illinois were closed? Surely not.
All stations were now playing the emergency announcement loops, including the one previously broadcasting freely. They advised listeners to evacuate the city but were stingy with clues about how to do it or where to go. A week ago, he wouldn't have listened to a government broadcast to save his life. Now his life did depend on a government announcement, and he was dismayed to discover they had no answers.
Going south didn't seem possible, given the traffic situation. Going west might work in a pinch, but that would take him into the bulk of the population of the city—enough reason to avoid that way. North would take him directly away from his goal, so that made no sense at all. Finally, he figured his best bet was to drive east into Illinois, where it was less crowded, then turn south and try to return over a bridge into Missouri somewhere. It would require going through downtown, which made him anxious just thinking about it, but it was the only place to cross.
With no help from the radio, he had to make a choice soon. He gently woke up Grandma.
She opened her eyes, looked out her window, then into his backpack.
“He's gone, Grandma. He didn't get our stuff either, but I'm not sure what happened. I was lying on the ground, and when I woke up, the crook was already dead. He got shot. I jumped in the car and sped us out of there.”
“I must have passed out from all the excitement. I'm so glad you're OK. I'm not doing a very good job taking care of you, am I?”
“We're both alive. That's all that matters now. Someone shot the yoga woman for me, too. I think I have a guardian angel. I've learned an important lesson; the rules are changing. I'm going to be smarter from now on, so I can protect you and me both.”
Grandma leaned forward just enough to touch his shoulder with reassurance.
“We make a good team,” she said.
“Well, teammate, we need a new plan now. Traffic on the highway to the south is completely stopped. All the main roads next to the interstate going that way are also filled with people trying to escape. It didn't look like any of those vehicles were going to be moving anytime soon, so I pulled into this parking lot to think. The radio has nothing useful on where to go. I figured we'd try to get across a bridge downtown and then drive south on the Illinois side of the river.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Liam.”
“Will you help me navigate? I'm afraid I don't know where to go.” The extent of his driver's education with Dad ended at Grandma's house. The rest of the city was a blank space as far as roads went.
“I'll do what I can,” she said from behind.
He pulled back onto the road, in the direction of downtown. Unlike the lanes going south, the northbound side of the road was virtually devoid of traffic. He wasn't willing to use the term “good luck” just yet. He knew how fast luck could go down the toilet.
He felt a trace of a smile on his face as he sped through the dying city heading for freedom.
Looking in the rearview, Grandma's face was far more stoic.
2
The street was a major thoroughfare in this part of the city. It had two lanes of traffic in each direction, with a breakdown lane in the middle. Very few cars were going either way. The massive backup of south-bound traffic hadn't reached this far north yet.
Several cars burned on the roadway in front of a row of apartments. Strangely, other cars were moving among the burned-out hulks, seemingly unconcerned with the danger.
He was gaining his sea legs on this terrible ocean. He immediately stopped the car and looked for alternate routes where he could turn down a side street and avoid even being close to such destruction. Grandma was in the back seat, watching ahead as well.
“Grandma, I'm turning. I don't think we should go anywhere near those burning cars.”
“Watch those cars on fire,” she yelled a little too loud at almost the same time, as she sometimes did when her hearing aids acted up.
He smiled as he made a left, then a quick right turn onto a narrow avenue running parallel to the main road. They entered a more residential area. A few cars lined both sides of the street, but there were also a lot of trash and debris blowing around, as if many of the houses had simply thrown their contents right out their doors.
More ominously, he saw odd characters walking aimlessly. Sick? Infected? Lost? Stealing?
He wasn't stopping to find out. He hit the gas, quickly pushing fifty miles per hour down the narrow street. Not bad for a fifteen-year-old with a learner's permit.
The passenger window shattered as several gunshots exploded from the houses lining the right side of the street. He instinctively jerked his head as low as he could even as his heart rate started to outpace his car.
“Grandma! Get down!”
The rear passenger-side window blew out next, followed by the one on his side. The shots were either coming from both sides or going completely through the interior.
The rear window blew out a second later, and the headrest on his seat crumpled.
That was close!
He glanced in the mirror. Grandma had fallen over sideways in the back, covered with tiny pieces of safety glass.
“Oh, my lands,” she exclaimed.
He risked a sideways peek, but the shooters were well hidden. He was going much too fast. Shots continued behind them, and he could see in the side mirror a couple of men had run into the street to shoot, even as he drove away.
Only a few seconds more ...
He took a right turn too fast, scraped against a car on his side, but was just able to maintain control on the new street. The sedan lost some paint, but they escaped the flying bullets.
Rather than being scared, he was mad as hell again. People were using this disaster as an excuse to—do what exactly? Were these bad people showing their true colors or good people gone wrong due to the chaos? It had scarcely been one lousy day since law and order was put on hold. Things were going downhill fast if this was how it was going to be.
He slowed enough to take a left turn back onto the main street safely and was pleased to see they had traveled beyond the burned-out wrecks. Were the men on the previous street the same ones who burned the cars on this one? Why would anyone randomly destroy cars and shoot at people they didn't know? Were they trying to kill him? He had no explanation that fit the circumstances, and he sure wasn't going back to interview them.
Pardon me. Would you refrain from killing me while I ask you a few questions?
They quickly overtook another vehicle—a cramped, blue coupe—with a family inside who looked over at him as he matched their speed for a second before accelerating past them.
The open road was just as dangerous as everywhere else. Even a friendly-looking family couldn't be trusted. He could trust no one but himself and Grandma.
In the distance, he got his first glimpse of the Gateway Arch as it twinkled in the mid-day sun. He had many memories seeing it as a kid—how many times had his parents excitedly pointed it out as they were driving? It was a source of fascinat
ion and pride for locals like him. A snarl of traffic came into view on the street ahead, interrupting his pleasant memories.
Will anything be easy ever again?
3
The traffic wasn't as bad as it appeared at first glance. A major intersection in this part of the city was catching traffic from the nearby highway, as well as the growing procession heading downtown. Several other drivers must have gotten the same idea to head that way once they realized the highway out of town was toast.
After several minutes snaking through the busy intersection, they found open roads before once again coming upon a jammed cross street. It was much worse than the previous delay.
They were only a couple of miles from downtown. They could now see the big Anheuser-Busch brewery that was a cultural icon in this city. As they came through the big intersection, they could see the traffic ahead had stopped completely. As cars came up on the tail of the northbound traffic jam, they shut off engines, and passengers got out and joined the people ahead of them on foot. He could already see a few cars coming in behind him, which would make sure he never got out of this entanglement.
He turned the wheel hard to his right. Angie's severely damaged car jumped the curb and came to a stop in a tiny parking lot for a fast-food joint. He heard a loud pop. He backed his car sloppily into a spot up against the building, allowing himself a clear shot to drive in any direction he chose—except into the traffic jam itself—should he change his mind about joining the sea of walkers going downtown.
Several other cars took his lead. Soon the little parking lot was full, as were several other open spaces on this side of the road. He was silently impressed with himself for thinking of something that was so useful to his fellow travelers. It felt nice to lead, even if it was just a bit of luck on his part for thinking of it.
His pleasure faded once he exited the vehicle and saw its condition. Angie had some pride in her vehicle and took care to keep it washed and waxed at a local hands-on car wash. If she saw her car now, she would fall over dead.
Not funny, Liam!
Four windows were blown out. Several bullet holes peppered the passenger side, including a couple up near the engine. It was a miracle nothing got permanently damaged under the hood. He walked around and inspected as much as he dared. One bullet had mangled the locking assembly of the passenger-side rear door, making it impossible to open. He reached in through the broken glass and grabbed his backpack. As he pulled away, he noticed the front tire had gone all the way flat and it made the car look sad.
Since The Sirens Box Set | Books 1-7 Page 9