by AJ Powers
Glass shattered from the back and TJ screamed in terror as a behemoth of a man reached inside.
“TJ!” Naomi yelped.
“Hang on!” Malcom replied as his foot pinned the gas pedal to the floor, flinging off TJ’s attacker.
Before Malcom could even ask, Naomi was climbing into the back seat to check on her brother. Besides being covered in glass and scared shitless, the boy was okay.
The execution of the plan was not pretty, but they managed to get back onto the road with no bites and just one less shotgun shell. Malcom chalked it up as a win.
Chapter Thirty-Three
33 – Near Barstow, Texas – June 23rd
“Son of a bitch!” Malcom exhaled sharply as the first of the five lug nuts finally broke loose. His face glistened with sweat that was beading up on his forehead and running down to the tip of his nose as the early-afternoon temperature continued its hellacious climb. The truck dash read 106, which was, by far, the highest number he ever witnessed on a thermometer.
“You okay?” Naomi asked, keeping her back to Malcom as she stood guard, her eyes constantly scanning the horizon.
Malcom wiped the sweat off his head with his forearm, which did little more than spread it around his skin. He let out a sigh. “Yeah, I’m fine. Would kill for a pneumatic wrench, though.”
Naomi didn’t respond.
Spinning the lug nut off the threads, Malcom put it on the ground a couple of feet away and moved on to the next one, which seemed impossibly tighter. “What the… Did they have freakin’ King Kong torque these suckers down or something?”
“Want me to give it a try?” Naomi asked, sarcasm manifesting in her voice.
“How ’bout you just make sure no one surprises me while I’m working,” Malcom retorted. “Speaking of which, see anything?”
Naomi flattened her hand above her eyes and focused on an industrial factory about a quarter mile to the north. “Not sure. I think I see something over there, but the heat makes everything look like its moving, so it’s pretty hard to tell.”
Malcom dusted his hands off and stood to his feet. Letting out an exhausted breath, he walked over to the back of the truck and retrieved the scoped Mosin-Nagant from the bed. Using the 4X optics on the Russian rifle, he looked in the direction Naomi indicated. The clarity wasn’t all that great, but it was enough for him to confirm that there were infected loitering just outside the factory’s loading docks. “Yeah, I count three of them over there,” Malcom whispered as he lowered the rifle, gently setting it back down in the bed. “Keep an eye on them,” he added before kneeling next to the flat tire.
Doing his best to stifle the noise of his exertion, Malcom tugged on the lug wrench in every productive way possible to get the second nut to loosen. The truck rocked and bounced from his efforts, the shocks quietly groaning as he finally persuaded the second lug nut off the threads.
A series of giggles could be heard from inside the cab. “Again! That was fun!” TJ yelled, the plastic tarp taped over his window doing little to dampen the sounds of his excitement.
Malcom got to his feet and opened the front door. He leaned inside and pressed his finger up to his smiling lips, causing the boy to playfully cover his mouth with his hands. The child’s laughter and the chill of the air-conditioned cab was a needed moment of respite for Malcom, especially during such a frustrating moment.
They were on the I-20 access road about a half mile east of Barstow, a small town a little over 200 miles from Fort Bliss. Malcom was planning to stop at Barstow for an early dinner and to resupply their fuel and water. Though he was confident they had enough gas to last them the rest of the trip, he was a lot more comfortable rolling up to the gates with half a tank to spare than coasting into town on fumes. But more than that, the water situation was a big concern. Malcom didn’t realize just how low they were until he couldn’t find that last crate he swore was in the back of the bed. There were just four bottles left, which was sufficient for a few hours inside a climate-controlled truck. But if they were forced to abandon the vehicle on a stretch of highway with nothing but dirt and sand for dozens of miles in any direction, the three of them wouldn’t survive without more water.
“So,” Naomi spoke up, interrupting Malcom’s thoughts, “what do you think the camps will be like?” she asked, her gaze still locked on the loading docks.
Shitty, Malcom answered to himself before offering a slightly more encouraging response to Naomi. “Well, I doubt it’ll be a five-star resort.” He grunted as the third lug nut broke free. “But it probably won’t be all that bad. Comfy beds. Hot food. Air conditioning,” he said, the latter sounding euphoric at that very moment. “Best of all, we’ll be behind some very tall walls that’ll be guarded by America’s finest.”
Of course, he didn’t believe anything he’d just said, except for maybe the part about the guarded walls. He was too old to be so naïve. The government spared no expense when it came to the DC elites, but when it came to the peasants, corners were often cut, and budgets suddenly became important. Camps like the one they were headed to weren’t designed with comfort in mind; their one and only purpose was to keep people on the right side of the ground. Amenities and creature comforts were nothing more than incidental perks.
Nevertheless, the thought of being able to lay his head down at night without worrying if infected were going to give him a 3:00 A.M. wakeup call sounded incredible to his weary soul. And the notion of not having to risk his life just to satisfy a grumbling stomach sounded appealing as well. Malcom knew the living conditions were going to be far from inviting, but the tradeoffs would be worth it—at least for a little while.
“My mom told me they were working on a cure. Have you heard anything about that?”
Before Tessa had mentioned it, Malcom hadn’t heard about any such efforts, but he also hadn’t paid much attention to the news or radios before they’d gone off the air. He hadn’t cared whether or not a cure was being developed, because his long-term plans had an expiration date. However, he kept up the positive talk—as much for his benefit as Naomi’s—and said, “I’m sure they were already working on a cure before any of us even knew there was a disease. And I doubt we’re the only country dealing with this mess, so I imagine the most brilliant minds around the world are all working on a way to stop this from getting any worse.”
Naomi scoffed. “Not sure how it could get worse than this.”
She had a point. And Malcom’s agreement came in the form of silence, which carried on for several minutes until he wheezed out, “Finally!” He spun the last lug nut off the wheel, panting for air. “How are our new friends doing over there?” Malcom asked as he positioned the jack underneath the truck.
“Haven’t moved much from the looks of it,” Naomi replied.
“Good. Hard part’s out of the way here. Shouldn’t take but another couple of minutes, and we’ll be good to go.” As Malcom swiveled the crank on the jack, watching the lift slowly inch its way up to the frame of the truck, he heard a quiet hum in the air. “You hear that?” he asked.
Naomi looked around in the sky. “Yeah. Is it a jet?”
As the sound grew louder, Malcom detected a slight chop to the drone. “No. I think that’s a helicopter.” Seconds later, he spotted the chopper about a mile to the south, heading west. He scrutinized the swift-moving silhouette for a moment as a deep pit formed in his stomach.
Naomi started flailing her arms wildly, but Malcom quickly batted them down.
“What the hell?” she barked. “They can help us!”
Malcom shook his head. “That’s a Hind.”
“Who cares what kind of helicopter it is?”
“A Hind is a Soviet helicopter, Naomi.”
She shrugged, as if to say, “So?”
“Our military wouldn’t be caught dead flying antiquated, Russian trash like that, and neither would our allies. Naomi, those aren’t our people,” Malcom said, his grim tone matching his expression.
; Naomi swallowed hard as her eyes drifted back to the helo gradually fading from sight. Before she could ask if Malcom was certain, a bellowing cry from behind them diverted her attention.
Drawn out by the noise of the helicopter, the infected ran hungrily toward the disabled truck.
“Shit! Malcom!” Naomi said as she raised her carbine.
Malcom reached for his AR-15 sitting on the ground next to the deflated tire, taking aim at the approaching horde that was much larger than the three they saw earlier. Much larger. “Wait until they get closer,” he said.
Naomi’s body shook as she resisted the impulse to open fire.
“You’ve got this, Naomi,” Malcom said, his eye glued to the red dot scope on his rifle.
Naomi drew in a deep breath as she nervously waited. Pictures of Tessa flickered through her mind as she picked the first target. To her surprise, thinking of her mother’s death didn’t make her sad…
It made her angry.
Her eyes met briefly with Malcom’s as her grip on the gun tightened. He gave her a subtle nod before returning his focus to his optics. Naomi returned her attention to the sights on her gun and curled her finger around the trigger. I love you, Mom.
Malcom took the first shot, causing Naomi to jump from the deafening blast. She wasted no time recovering, though, and quickly made her opening argument against the infected.
“Great shot!” Malcom said. “Good distance. Keep it up.” He shifted his muzzle to the right and unleashed three rounds at a big, hairy man who promptly crash-landed into the dry Texas soil beneath him.
Instinct and adrenaline soon took control of Naomi’s body as she picked her next target and squeezed on the trigger until she felt resistance. She kept the woman in her sights as she waited for her to get closer. Close enough, Naomi thought as she took the shot. She saw a plume of dust kick up behind the woman’s body, but she kept running. “Damn it!” Naomi scolded herself as she pulled the trigger several more times, finally delivering a fatal shot.
“Nine o’clock,” Malcom shouted as he engaged two more targets coming from the factory.
Naomi pivoted on the ball of her foot and swung her carbine toward Barstow. A lone infected man in blood-soaked clothing charged down the road at her, an unquenchable lust for flesh in his howls. She involuntarily flinched as the repeated booms coming from Malcom’s rifle rattled her skull, but she forced herself to ignore the painful sensation and lined up her shot, dropping the man with a single bullet.
“Reload!” Malcom shouted as the empty polymer magazine clattered off the asphalt.
Naomi spun back to the field to her north and dropped two of the remaining threats before her gun ran dry. By the time she finished reloading her carbine, Malcom had dispatched the final three infected.
“We’re sitting ducks here until I get this thing changed,” he said, dropping to his knees to finish jacking the truck up. “There’ll be more coming, so keep them off of me or we’re fucked,” Malcom added, not sugar-coating the situation.
The weight of the circumstances crushed down heavily on Naomi’s shoulders as she observed several more infected pouring out of an open door at the factory. Her breaths were short and rapid, and sweat relentlessly stung her eyes. She struggled to control the tremble in her hand, and her knees felt as if they were going to give out at any moment. In spite of the physical terror rocking her body, Naomi raised her carbine and moved into a shooting stance, ready to defend Malcom and TJ with her life.
With the truck lifted, Malcom ripped the flat off and tossed it onto the ground. He grabbed the spare tire and aligned it to the studs on the axel, but the truck wasn’t high enough. “Damn it!” he exclaimed, reaching for the crank on the jack.
“Hurry up, Malcom,” Naomi said before popping off several rounds.
Malcom ignored her as he gave the crank several more twists. He reached for the spare tire again, this time successfully lining up the studs with the holes on the wheel. “One more minute,” he said, pushing the wheel into place.
The sharp cracks from Naomi’s carbine increased in frequency. They were running out of time. Before Malcom had the first lug nut threaded on, Naomi was calling for another reload. Staying on his knees, Malcom grabbed his rifle and turned around, dropping the three closest targets. Unfortunately, there were dozens more behind them, forcing Malcom to temporarily abandon the tire to help Naomi. The girl was holding her own, her inner warrior shining brightly in the heat of battle, but even the strongest fighter couldn’t handle so many threats alone.
Several magazines later, the field was littered with bodies and, for the moment, no new ones were coming out from the factory. Malcom returned his focus to the tire as Naomi, once again, stood guard. Just as Malcom finished hand-tightening the lug nuts, he heard Naomi’s terror-stricken voice.
“Uhm, Malcom…”
Malcom stood to his feet and looked toward Naomi to ask what was wrong, but he didn’t need to. He saw it for himself before the words could reach his lips.
Hundreds. Maybe thousands of infected were crowded on the road, heading straight for them from the east. The air around the legion of undead swirled with dust and debris as they followed their primal instincts to find something to eat—or at least kill—Malcom wasn’t sure if they ever ate their victims, as if it made one damn bit of difference.
“Go get in the truck,” Malcom said.
Naomi didn’t move, instead, she defiantly stood her ground, continuing to protect Malcom while he finished replacing the tire.
In what felt like the slowest process ever, Malcom lowered the jack, allowing the spare tire to support the weight of the truck. As soon as the jack cleared the frame, Malcom dragged it out from beneath the truck and started tightening the lug nuts in a star pattern.
“They’re getting close,” Naomi chimed in.
Her words were unnecessary; Malcom could hear the thunderous pound of thousands of feet colliding with the asphalt. “Go get in the truck, Naomi,” Malcom said.
“Not until you do.”
Malcom’s heart thumped with fear and exhaustion as he wrenched down the last nut. Out of breath, he grabbed his rifle and scrambled to his feet. “Okay, go get in the—”
“Watch out!” Naomi shrieked while raising her weapon.
Malcom dropped back to his knees as Naomi fired three quick shots. The sensation of bullets buzzing closely over his head was one he hoped to never repeat, and even in the moment, it sent a chill down his spine. He spun around to see not one but two infected down on the road just a few feet away, one of them still crawling across the asphalt as he rasped through a large hole in his neck.
No longer a threat, Malcom got back to his feet and looked at the approaching mob, which was just a couple hundred yards away. “Get in,” Malcom repeated again as he ran around the front of the truck to get to his door.
TJ was tucking his chin into his chest and covering his head with his arms as he sobbed at the chaos around him.
“We’re okay, TJ,” Malcom said, “but hang on tight, because we’re going to go really fast.”
Having left the engine on to keep TJ from having a heatstroke, Malcom went straight for the shifter before stomping on the gas, forcing each gear to redline along the way. They blew past Barstow and continued west on the service road. Despite wanting to put a hell of a lot more distance between them and the massive horde, Malcom was forced to slow down as the road cut through the city of Pecos.
With the adrenaline gradually fading, Malcom’s muscles relaxed some. He replayed the last twenty minutes in his head, realizing just how close they came to death—yet again. He recognized how the moment, almost poetically, mirrored the close call on the boat. Just as Tessa had watched Malcom’s back while he installed the battery, Naomi kept the boogeymen away as he replaced the tire. Tessa had been a fighter, and it was clear that Naomi inherited her mother’s traits.
“Listen…” Malcom said. “Thanks for having my back out there.”
Naomi was st
ill shaking as she tried to come down from the high. “Gotta look out for each other. You and TJ are all I have left.”
“Yep. Gotta look out for…” Malcom’s voice trailed off as his eyes spotted more movement on a side street up ahead, but it was much too large to be infected. It looked like a… “Oh, shit!” he yelled as his foot jammed down on the brakes. The F-150 screeched to a stop just before the Toyota Titan screamed out onto the road.
Chapter Thirty-Four
34 – Pecos, Texas – June 23rd
Malcom’s eyes pierced through the grimy windshield and locked on to the large, gray pickup truck blocking the road ahead. At first, he thought maybe it was just a group of bandits, like the pair that ambushed him back in Kentucky. But when the mounted heavy machine gun in the bed swiveled abruptly toward them, he knew it wasn’t just a couple thugs taking advantage of a world without the rule of law.
“Those aren’t the good guys, are they?” Naomi whispered, her expression twisted in fear.
Malcom wanted to believe the situation was not nearly as grim as it appeared, but his gut was telling him otherwise. Giving Naomi false hope would do her no good. “No. They are not.”
“Wha-what do we do?”
Before Malcom could answer, two of the doors on the lifted truck popped open, and a pair of Asian men dropped to the asphalt. With his hackles raised, Malcom drew in a quiet breath as he shifted into park. “Try to stay calm. Maybe they’ll let us pass through.”
Naomi nodded as she deftly covered her carbine with her legs and a t-shirt on the floor.
As the two men closed in on the F-150, the older of the two barked a command to the younger man. The younger soldier wore a blue helmet that had the letters UN painted in white across the front. He clutched tightly to his Chinese-made AK-47, his cheek welded to the stock as he kept the muzzle trained on Malcom through the windshield. The older man, most likely the ranking officer, wore no hat and carried a Type 68 in his right hand as he casually strolled up to the driver’s door.