Endemic Rise of the Plague (33 page)

After pulling over behind an ATV repair shop and wasting
valuable time, Hank and Joe had bandaged up Shotgun’s leg with a couple of old tee shirts from behind Hank’s seat. It had cost them precious time to find a safe place to park, clean the wound and get the shirts to stay in place, amidst Shotgun’s writhing. But now, just minutes after the entire production, the shirts were soaked in blood. The cost had not only been in time and blood-loss, but daylight as well. The darkness had crept in on them, leaving an opportunity for runners and roamers to lurk in the shadows of obscurity.

Shotgun ha
d been having difficult situating himself in the back of the pickup, to get in a more comfortable position. He had refused Joe’s many offers to assist him, expressing that his tremendous pain felt too great.

“Hank, we got to move. He is losing too much blood. We need to get him to that lab,” Joe turned his attention to Shotgun, “Will they be able to help you there?”

Shotgun nodded, clenching his jaw, allowing puffs of air to escape through flaring nostrils.

“I should have known that they would be in a full quarantine by now,” Shotgun grunted.

The transmission clanked as Hank put the truck in gear and headed toward Angora. Joe looked through the open back window at Kate, who flashed a tense, sideways-grin back at him from the passenger seat. He scanned distance, while the truck barreled down the streets. With his hand on his weapon, he waited for it, the mob. He knew he would see them any time now. They had out-drove the mob quite some time ago, but Joe was certain that they hadn’t disbursed. Street after street and turn after turn, he saw only a few roamers and even fewer normal people. He felt surprised that he hadn’t seen the downed helicopter yet. He looked to the sky, a dreary sight. Thick black smoke slithered through the air between buildings. Helicopters circling overhead lit up the dark evening sky with their red, blue and white lights. He wondered if they were stopping anywhere, picking up survivors and carrying them off to safety beyond the borders of the Port Steward.

“Where are we Hank? Is this the same way we came?” Joe looked around, trying to get his bearings, but from the back of the truck, and now, in the dark, a sense of disorientation swallowed him.

“Nope, this is my route, heading straight downtown. I shaved two blocks off the end, this way, cross your fingers, we might just miss the whole crash scene and hopefully the crowd—if they’re still together—or we could run right into them,” Hank kept tight hands on the wheel, looking back at Joe only for a moment.

Turning up the last street on the block, refuse and tangled vehicles cluttered the road. With Angora in view, only two or three blocks down, the streets were dammed with vehicles, making it impossible for the truck to pass. Besides, they were west of Angora, and the gate stood on another side. On their quick pass of
the next street, there were roamers shuffling about. They didn’t seem focused on anything in particular. Joe turned his head the other direction, several blocks down, a familiar sight caught his eye. A vast plume of smoke and part of a propeller—illuminated by the long lasting fire from the helicopter crash site had a growing crowd of infected that could rival the mob at the carnival.

“I’m gonna circle around to the other side and see if there is a clear path from the front of the building,” Hank declared.

They sped through the intersection and followed the road about four blocks down and made a left onto I street. Joe could feel the pace of the truck reduce as they passed the streets that led down to the lab. He observantly inspected each, trying to find a way. Passing 12th street, few ordinary people could be spotted looting the small stores, fighting with one another and even attacking what few roamers shuffled about. The looters had electronics and cases of water in hand, running through the street, as if it were a race. A jack-knifed diesel truck blocked 11th street, and four people ran down the street, followed closely by two runners. With not many ordinary people on 10th street, roamers ruled the road, scattered all the way down as far as Joe could see. Each street seemed impenetrable, if not for infected, then looters or abandoned and wrecked vehicles along the way. Hank followed the road down about five blocks past the lab, and then made a U-turn, traveling back toward the lab. Joe stole a glance at Shotgun’s wound, blood leaked from the makeshift dressing into a pool beneath his leg. Urgently, Joe scanned the streets that they had already passed looking for a clear path to the lab. The truck turned on Seventh Street, pulling over on the corner.

Hank turned around, looking at Joe, “The truck isn’t gonna make it any closer than this. We are going to have foot-it from here. I don’t
see any infected on this street, but there are too many cars in the way to try to drive,” Hank said, shaking his head with a hasty sigh. “How’s he doing? You think he can he make it? It’s a straight shot from here Joe. The gate’s right down there.”

Joe looked down the street. He could see the gates, they were about eight blocks down he guessed.
It may as well be eight miles
. Shotgun’s face had drained of all color—the grisly wound on his thigh was taking its toll. He doubted it would support any weight, not to mention the weakened state he must be in, due to blood loss. He’d already lost so much blood, and the prospect of him trying to walk on it, could be a death sentence.

“I don’t know Hank. Come and help me get him up,” Joe said, rubbing his hand across the stubble on his cheeks.

Hank came around to the bumper, reaching for their injured friend as Joe helped Shotgun slide down the truck bed. Shotgun grunted in pain, kicking Hank back with his good leg. Shotgun shook his head, while grating his teeth.

Hank raised his hands in submission and gradually came closer to Shotgun.

“Okay, let’s take it nice and slow,” Joe offered, looking back and forth between the men. He slowly lifted Shotgun’s torso to an upright position, with his legs dangling off the back of the tailgate-less truck at the knees.

Joe leapt from the truck and came around to Hank. With nothing more than a look to one another, each of them tucked a shoulder into Shotgun’s armpit.
With their timing like synchronized swimmers, each draped an arm around their necks and hoisted Shotgun off the truck.

Joe could feel Shotgun’s body tighten in pain, “No, no, no. Put me back down,” he grunted.

After returning Shotgun to the back of the pickup, Joe and Hank looked at one another with defeat in their body language. Joe knew that he couldn’t give up—he had to do something. He felt a renewed sense of determination rising inside him. He scanned the street, looking for something.
A wheel chair would be ideal, but there has to be something that we can use to transport Shotgun.

“Okay, do you think you can get me into the cab of the truck?” Shotgun pleaded breathlessly, rubbing a bloody hand over his dirt-caked, blonde hair.

“Yes, of course,” Hank said, looking to Joe.

“Yeah,” Joe
nodded. “What are you thinking?”

“Just get me up there, to the driver’s seat,” Shotgun said
, between deep breaths.

Joe and Hank hoisted Shotgun up once more. They shimmied up the side of the pickup with Shotgun’s legs dangling. He snorted distressingly, seeming as if every breath
felt agonizing. As they neared the door, Kate’s face appeared in the window. She pushed the door open and hurried to the passenger side. Shotgun’s groans were getting louder, and began to make Joe even more nervous, than he already felt. Finally, after what felt like an endless journey, they placed him on the seat. Shotgun’s chest heaved heavily as if he’d just run a triathlon. Beads of sweat stuck to his forehead and dribbled down his temples.

They stood there for a moment, waiting for Shotgun to catch his breath. Joe looked around, in paranoia for infected, but saw none.

“Gun, what are we doing here? You have an idea, because we should really get going,” Joe said, turning to the man inside the truck.

“Yeah, I’ve got an idea,”
Shotgun sniffled. “You guys go down there, flash this at the gate,” he pulled out a security badge with his name and picture on it, handing it to Joe.

“They’ll open the gate. They know you’re coming.
Take the guns, be careful and send help once you get there.”

“We can’t just leave you here,” Joe looked at him in confusion.

“You have to. You don’t have the equipment to move me. This is the only way. I’ll stay inside, with everything closed. You just get there and send my team back for me.”

Joe couldn’t agree with this option. Anything could happen to Shotgun while
all alone in the truck and he would have nobody to back him up. Hank nodded in agreement and reached into the back of the truck and recovered Shotgun’s weapon. He handed it to him and slammed the door. Joe watched as Kate leaned over and hugged Shotgun, tears rolling down her face. She exited the truck, closing the door softly and then pushing it closed all the way. Joe wrapped his arms around her as she came around. He shook his head inspecting the bullet holes in the cracked glass of the windshield. The wing windows on both sides had been busted out by bullets.
This truck won’t keep the infected out for long and if they can smell, all that blood in the back is going to have them running.

With a nod from Shotgun, the group proceeded down the street into the darkness.

Glimpsing back a Shotgun by the glow of the street lamps, Joe knew it was wrong to leave him in that truck. Being so close to the gates, only a few blocks, and in all the rubble and trash lined streets, nothing usable to get Shotgun mobile could be found. Normally, shopping carts are parked in all the wrong places: blocking parking spots, crashed into shrubbery, overturned in allies, but now, when one could actually be of use, there were none. Joe scanned the empty cars that congested the street as tattered debris, plastic bags, and falling leaves drifted through the air on the disaster stricken street.

Walking near the curb and cars that had been left behind, Joe marched cautiously but purposefully toward the towering laboratory. He looked back at Kate, just behind him, and Hank who trailed at the end. With his gun ready, the old man
scanned ahead on alert. Joe felt cautious as they set out, though there was still no sign of infected. It was full dark now—the summer night seizing the sky. Sidewalk lamp posts cast their glow on the road and rubble ahead. He searched each vehicle they passed and listened, but nothing. The infected were possibly preoccupied on the other streets. Until now, there hadn’t been anything on this street for them to be interested in. Joe hoped to keep it that way.

As they stalked down the street, the sidewalks and gutters were littered with belongings of the living. Purses, cell phones, hats, books and papers were s
trewn across the ground. It seemed as though people had dropped their belongings and ran. As Joe looked closer, this street looked noticeably strange. He had driven down it a hundred times, but couldn’t identify the variance. Then it hit him—the pavement was a different color, like it had been repaved. Joe looked closer. It had never been this dark. As they passed a nearby building, the developing shimmer of rising moon’s beams touched the street ahead of them. Joe stopped as if he had been turned to stone.

He gazed at the road, immediately reco
gnizing the sight before them by the true light of the moon. Blood. The street was saturated with it. So much blood had been spilled on this street that it had literally stained the road red. He snapped out of it, after a nudge by Kate. She gave him an inquisitive look almost asking about the holdup with her eyes alone. He shook his head and picked up the pace. He approached end of the first block, searching feverishly in all directions. All seemed clear, so they went on.

While crossing the intersection, one of the many skyward choppers passed by overhead. They watched as it hovered curiously low over the buildings and soared over the gates to Angora. They wordlessly watched the aircraft land on the roof of the building.
This is our way out of here
. A bit of glee crept into Joe’s stomach, as he thought of how close they were to his missing daughter and to safety. The chopper never turned off the engine and then it rose back up and floated away from the building.

They’
re evacuating people. We are almost out.

Roxy turned to Dave, as desperation rattled her core
. He casually examined the street below, without a hint of concern.

“Dave! Do you hear that?” She tried to whisper
, but her voice was stricken with panic.

He glanced back at her with assuring eyes
, “Yeah, the truck door,” he gently nodded his head, and then began to study Roxy’s face, “What do you hear?”

“The gate,” she said with saucer-like eyes, pointing toward Angora.

A grinding creak echoed in the distance, from the great gate across the street. Both of their heads turned simultaneously. Dave stooped low on the roof, tightening his grasp on his shotgun, while staring over the rooftop ledge in vigilance. Roxy snuck to the end of the roof to get a peek. It would certainly be security, coming for them.

“Hey, the gates at Angora are
opening up,” Mara whispered through the radio.

N
o one congregated outside of Angora’s gates, infected or otherwise. Roxy tried to rationalize why no one had gathered there, in hopes of getting in.
It is late in the evening, Saturday, and this area is primarily businesses that are closed on the weekends anyways. Plus Angora has been on lock down, so no one would really think that there would be a way in. The infected wouldn’t flock to the gate unless they saw it opening and closing and knew that there people inside for them to attack.

“We see it. Stay out of sight,” Roxy
radioed back, as she shimmied across the rooftop near Dave to take in an adequate view.

They
observed in silence as the gates opened slowly. Only one vehicle emerged from behind the gates. The black SUV rolled beyond the gate and paused, as the gate slowly closed behind it. The vehicle remained on the corner for nearly a minute.
What are they doing? Have they spotted us?
The longer the SUV lingered on the corner, the more paranoid Roxy became.

“What are they doing?” Roxy said aloud.

Dave said nothing, only offering a paltry shrug.

Th
e rumble of Mattie’s truck roared to life, the monstrous motor’s voice reverberating off the nearby buildings and meandering through the empty alley. Roxy turned to Dave, her eyes wide with desperation, as she fumbled the radio in her belt.

“Mara, does Mattie have a radio?
Or anything to get a hold of him?” Roxy whispered desperately into the radio, but she already knew the answer. She had been the one to find the radios—and there were only two.

“No, I have the radio,” Mara shrieked.

“Dave,” Roxy pleaded, frantic to know what to do.

“There is nothing we can do right now without giving up our position. Maybe they won’t even cross paths,” he said, as if reading her mind.

Dave was right, but the idea of doing nothing grated against her heart like a grizzly’s claw to a tree trunk. If Mattie and the Angora vehicle do cross paths, things are going to become very complicated. She shimmied back across the roof toward the back of the building. Popping her head over the ledge, she could see Mattie’s truck down the alley. She thought about tossing her boot at the truck to try to get his attention. As she reached down, touching her boot zipper, the truck accelerated. The truck took off toward Eighth Street. Roxy’s newly acquired acute sense of hearing picked up sound of the SUV, accelerating as well, on the other side of the building. However, her anxiety toward the situation made determining the direction of the traveling SUV, near impossible. Her eyes streaked to Dave, who pointed toward Eighth Street. She held her breath trying to come up with ideas as she could feel seconds ticking away with the moan of the engines.

She reached the edge of the roof above the alley and Eighth Street near a street access latter. At the same time
, Dave reached the front corner of the rooftop at Eighth and D Streets. Mattie turned right onto Eighth Street nearly at the same time as the SUV turned left onto the road. Roxy sank down on the roof, with just her eyes above the ledge, not wanting to watch, but unable to look away.

Mattie
held a steady pace as did the SUV.
Haven’t they recognized one another? They must. They are less than a hundred feet from one another.

Suddenly, the SUV’s engine whined as it sped up and converged onto Mattie’s path. Mattie veered into the other lane to avoid the oncoming vehicle. The SUV turned into Mattie’s deflection and clipped the back bumper. Mattie’s swerve angled the front of his vehicle toward the rear of the SUV, but the sturdy jolt from the heavyweight SUV caused Mattie’s truck to roll over onto its side. The pickup scraped along the driver’s side several feet before striking a fire hydrant across the street and grinding to a halt.

Breathless, Roxy stared in silence as water geysered into the sky, maybe thirty feet.

The doors to the SUV opened up. Rhino stepped out from behind t
he driver’s door, Junior jumped out of the door behind and Randy from the passenger side.

Roxy felt warmth crawl up her spine at the sight of Randy. It
felt almost like the opposite of the chills. At that moment, Randy’s demeanor seemed to change. He stiffened up and stopped mid-step. He turned his head, looking directly at Roxy, while a toothy smile broadened across his face.

Roxy tried to move, but she was too
stunned by how he just seemed to know exactly her exact location, that she just froze. Her bearings came back to her quickly, and she dropped down below the ledge. Breathing heavily, she felt absolute fear surging throughout her entire body. She could see Dave in her peripheral vision, hunkered down looking her way. She crawled her way to him.

“Did you see that?
How?” Dave asked, looking to Roxy with a blank expression.

“I don’t know,” she lied.

She didn’t want to get into specifics with Dave right now. In truth, she could feel that Randy’s close proximity to her, and she was convinced that he could feel her presence, as well. Randy has been infected for far longer and could probably
feel
her exact location. How they could sense each other’s presence from afar, left Roxy burdened with questions. She vowed that if they make it through this, she would explain it to Dave—no matter how complicated it sounds.
Now that would be a great conversation.

A squeal came from the street below. Roxy recognized the voice
as belonging to Lynn. Her shrill scream echoed in a torturous pitch. Reluctant to look, she remained where she was, motionless, with her back to the ledge. The screams came in waves as if being generated purposefully. A flash of heat flushed Roxy’s face, her chest heaved in and out, as jitters floated in through her fingertips, traveling to her hands, up her arms and rocking her core. Randy brought on a fright in her like nothing she’d ever felt before. She had the urge to run away—to stay as far away from this man as possible—as though she were in real danger from him.

“Look at me! I know you are up there. I can
feel
you Harper,” Randy’s voice echoed down the otherwise vacant street. “I’m gonna kill her if you don’t look at me.”

Lynn’s intense scream echoed once more. Roxy couldn’t take it. He knew
her location.
I have to be strong. I have to.

She stood tall and looked down at him, attempting to project courage, although nerve-shattering terror trembled through her limbs.

Her heart sank like an anchor to a fishing boat at the sight of Lynn. From her vantage point, Lynn’s arm dangled in a way that only a broken arm could hang. Randy had taken off his security shirt that he’d had on earlier, and wore a plain, white tee shirt that clung to his sturdy chest and arms like an extra layer of skin. He held Lynn by her hair at the back of her head, with his gun in his other hand, pressed forcefully against her neck. Mattie’s sister writhed in agony, as though she would never escape Randy’s clutches.
How could he yank on her hair causing her even more pain, after seeing her broken arm?
But the most frightening sight that captured Roxy’s attention was the enormous smile on Randy’s face. He was enjoying himself. And Rhino and Junior stood nearby chuckling, while watching Randy torment that woman. These men were far worse than the monsters destroying Port Steward and its inhabitants. Tears escaped Roxy’s eyes as she feared what Randy may have in store for Lynn—and for her.

“Harper,” he said
, with a smile. “I don’t want any trouble. Just to take you guys back to the lab. The doc has work to do. And let’s face it. It’s a lot safer in there than it is out here. I mean look what happened to poor…” He whispered something into Lynn’s ear. “Poor Lynn here. So why don’t you come on down and go back with us and I promise, no one else will get hurt.”

“And if I won’t?” Roxy shouted, her voice wavering.

“I am afraid that is not an option. You and the doc are coming back to the lab with me. You can either hop in the back seat and we’ll cruise back to the lab, or you can arrive tied up, looking something like this,” he twisted Lynn’s hair, making her squeal again.

Roxy
looked down at him and his two buddies near the SUV. Rhino and Junior’s weapons were drawn, not aimed, but ready to go if needed. Imagining what Randy would do to Lynn if she didn’t concede to his demands, she could only think of the worst. He began whispering to his men, when Roxy heard something entirely different. The sound was subtle, if she were not trying to so hard to hear what Randy had been whispering, she may not have heard it at all. Although the sound was slightly muffled, it sounded like glass cracking as if it were being stepped on. Her eyes skimmed over the three men, but their feet were planted. Lynn squirmed, but the glass from the truck was well behind Randy. Her eyes drifted back to the overturned truck, when she heard it again.
Crunch
. Her eyes continued scanning, then she saw him, Mattie, only a few feet behind Randy. Crouched and difficult to distinguish, he tactfully inched closer to Randy. Roxy noticed a head wound, bleeding profusely down Mattie’s face. She looked away immediately, not wanting the others to take notice of what she had.

“Dave,” she whispered, kneeling down. “Go down
to Mara. Make it to her car—I’ll meet you there.”

Dave shook his head from under the ledge, “No. I’m not leaving you.”

“No you’re not…and you better not. But we’ll to need to get out of here fast. I have a plan and I need you two ready. Get the ladies in her car and be set to exit on Seventh Street. Please trust me.”

“No way.
I’m not going anywhere—”

“Please. Please trust me. I have to help Lynn, and I can’t let Randy hurt anyone else. I’ll make it to the car—I promise. Can you just do this for me?” Roxy pleaded.

He sighed heavily, studying her face. With little more than a disapproving grunt, he crawled toward the access door. Roxy watched him disappear behind the door and faced Randy once more.