Human Extinction Level Loss (Book 3): Liberation (2 page)

The noise woke Mark, who sat up, rubbing his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Just a little tap. Rubbing is racing, right,” she said.

Mark smiled. “Nice. These are days of thunder for sure,” Mark said as they continued down the highway.

Tommy sat up and looked around before giving a big yawn.

“We’re almost at a quarter tank. I think I saw a sign for gas stations back there. Maybe another mile or so,” Beverly said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Mark said. He checked his shoulder holster, flipping open the snap, anticipating a quick withdraw of his 9mm. Tommy reached down and retrieved the aluminum bat he had used in little league and handed it to his father.

“Here, Dad,” he said.

Mark smiled at his son, then looked over at Beverly, who met his gaze, both acknowledging the sad, harsh reality. Their son was growing up in a world where getting prepared for mortal combat was as routine as getting a tank of gas.

The gas station sat by the side of the road, butted up against an expanse of land that transitioned into a rocky and wooded wilderness. Beverly eased the truck into the station and they all three looked around for any sign of movement. Seeing nothing, Mark rolled down his window just enough for a breeze to blow through. He sniffed the air.

“Seems clear. Pull up under there,” he said.

Beverly eased the big truck up next to the diesel pump and shut off the engine. Mark opened his door and got out. Tommy started to follow, but Mark stopped him.

“You know the drill, Chief. You stay put till I check it out,” he said.

Tommy frowned, but complied. He sat in the passenger seat with his legs hanging out and watched as his Dad grabbed the bat and headed into the station. A few seconds later, Mark poked his head out and signaled a ‘thumbs up’ to Beverly. Beverly nodded and opened her door as Mark ducked back inside to check the station.

Beverly smiled at Tommy.

“It’ll be alright, Tommy. As soon as it’s all clear you know he’ll be back for you,” she said.

Tommy kicked his legs out, letting them thump back against the truck. Receiving no answer, she tousled his hair, then climbed out and unscrewed the big gas cap. She pulled the nozzle and flipped the lever on the pump and began to fill up. As the pump sprang to life and began counting out the gallons, Beverly blinked her eyes and smiled forlornly. There was still power to run the pumps. The events at Tres Hombres and memories of her friend Gary Sykes came rushing back to her and she choked up.

“Thank you, Gary. Thanks for giving us a chance,” she said quietly.

Her quiet reverie was broken by Tommy as he stuck his head out the driverside window.

“Mom! Geez, weren’t you listening? Dad says it’s all clear,” he said.

Beverly blinked back to the present and looked up at Tommy.

“Yeah, okay, but still be careful. Just because it’s all clear-”

Tommy didn’t let her finish. He darted out of the truck and over to his father, standing in the doorway of the station.

“…doesn’t mean it will stay that way,” Beverly said to the now vacant driverside door.

She assured herself that everything was safe. Tommy was with Mark, and Mark checked things out with the instincts of a beat cop. She turned her attention back to the pump and watched the numbers roll by.

In the back of the station, Tommy meandered over to the slushy machine. An short hallway, not seen from the front door, opened up into a grocery story.

“Hey, Dad! Check this out!” Tommy said.

Mark came over. He stood behind Tommy and stared down the hall. He had not seen the area back there and kicked himself for not being thorough.

“We should check that out. Maybe they have some good supplies,” Tommy said.

Mark did not break his gaze from the grocery store.

“Go back and wait with your mother, Tommy. I need to make sure it’s safe, first,” Mark said.

“Ah, come on, Dad. I have to learn sometime. I wanna help,” Tommy said. Mark looked down at his son and debated. Tommy pleaded with his eyes.

“Fine, but you stay behind me and only go where I go, understand?” Mark said.

Tommy beamed at his father and nodded vigorously.

The two stepped into the hall towards the grocery.

“And don’t tell your mother,” Mark said.

Mark kept his pistol level as they moved down the drygood’s aisle. Coming across a shopping cart, he pushed it back towards Tommy.

“If you see any of those good supplies, put them in here,” he said.

As they moved into the store, Tommy grabbed the few remaining bags of rice, beans, and lentils and chucked them into the basket. Tommy trailed behind his father. He ran his fingers down the length of the shelves as he walked and wished that the they were full of the candy that the prices advertised. As Mark neared the end of his aisle, he called to Tommy.

“Don’t lag, partner. We stick together, okay?”

Tommy nodded and hurried after his father as Mark turned out of the aisle and disappeared. Tommy didn’t look up when he rounded the corner, almost until it was too late. He skidded to a stop and stared at where his father now stood, then past him to the group of Undead that stood with their backs to Mark.

“Dad?” Tommy whispered.

Mark whipped his head around and he locked eyes with his son.

“Run, Tommy. Run, now,” he hissed.

Tommy shook his head, not wanting to leave his father. Movement caught his attention and he looked passed his father to the small horde beyond. Mark saw Tommy’s eyes and he turned to look at the horde. They bumped and shuffled against each other, piled up against the far wall. Some of those in the back stuck their noses in the air and began to sniff, then slowly they turned. As they did, the others also caught the scent and the huddled group began to break apart. Those who had been in the back of the group were now in the front and they caught sight of Mark. Mark saw it and knew. He turned his head and glared at Tommy.

“Run, now goddammit!” he snarled.

Tommy jumped at his Dad’s outburst and he turned and ran, even as the Dead did the same.

Outside, Beverly screwed the gas cap back on the tank and came around the front of the truck, heading for the station. She slowed her pace as her nose sniffed the air.

A change.

She looked in horror at the building, then broke into a run.

Beverly charged inside and looked around. Her head snapped to the right as she heard Tommy scream, and then gunshots. She broke into a sprint.

As she ran towards the slushy machine, she almost collided with Tommy. He stood there, tears streaming down his face.

“Mark!” she screamed.

Mark appeared at the far end of the small hallway. He risked a sidelong glance and saw his wife and child.

“Get him the fuck out of here!” he screamed.

When Beverly took a step forward rather than grabbing Tommy, Mark bellowed.

“Go!”

He fired three times. Beverly worked her mouth, but no words came out. She could feel her chest tighten as she scanned the scene before her. She looked at her hands. She had left her crowbar in the truck. She started to look around the store for some weapon, her mind racing but finding nothing. Mark saw that she and Tommy had not left and he called to her.

“Please, Bev! Take Tommy away! Save our son!”

Beverly looked at her husband and cried even as she nodded. She was about to call to him, when he turned and ran. Chasing him were a pack of runners. Tommy saw what was happening and immediately started to protest.

“No! No! No! We have to help Dad!”

Beverly’s heart felt like it was ripped from her chest, as through a haze of burning tears she grabbed Tommy up and ran towards the front of the station. Behind her, she heard Mark’s 9mm fire to empty, but she did not look back.

She burst through the doors and ran to the truck. On the driver’s side, she tore open the door and threw an hysterical Tommy inside, then jumped in herself. As she reached down and started the truck, Tommy opened his door and tried to jump out. In a panic, Beverly reached over and slammed the door shut, then grabbed tight onto Tommy’s belt loop, staying him with her right hand, even as she dropped the truck into ‘drive’ with her left. The big engine roared to life but did nothing to drown out the anguished cries of Tommy. He pawed at the side window and pulled against Beverly’s restraint as she mashed the gas and guided the truck back onto the highway.

Three

The horde was turning South and that meant there would not be another vantage point within his lethal range for awhile, not until they circled back and started heading northeast again. He hated the delay, but it gave him time to forage, to gather the things he needed, something he didn’t have time to do when the horde was within his sights. As an astronomer might chart the elliptical path of a comet, Jacob knew the meandering circuitous path of the horde and knew they would be coming back to him.

Jonathan Mann had received his liberation that morning. Jacob knew Mann to be a hard worker who loved his family. As a lawman, Jacob always looked for something to remember people by, both the good and the bad. A cop never knew when some bit of memory or information about a person might come in handy. Mann rode a Harley. His appearance could convey that he was a biker of the redneck variety and maybe someone you would step around, but that would be wrong. Jacob remembered Mann as a person who was quick with a joke, with a big heart. He had a great relationship with his sister, which is what impressed Jacob. It was like they were friends, brother and sister, but friends. Jacob had a smallish family, so the whole idea of a tightly knit clan was alien to him. Jonathan Mann was part of a big clan, a tight family, a good family.

The notion of rioting and looting during a national catastrophe was not a universal one. Consequently, when Jacob foraged, it was not unheard of to find stores with good quantities of stock still on their shelves. The contagion wasn’t like your hurricane or earthquake. Those catastrophes tended to draw people out in their aftermath, which usually involved a lack of law and order. The contagion kept people in. Nobody was risking infection. The fact that it was never reported that the contagion was airborne didn’t matter. People were scared. When people did come out, it was to run for their lives from those already infected, like they did in countless cities across the country, like they did in Hendricksville. People running don’t have time to loot. Still, sometimes you could find stuff in homes that you couldn’t find in stores.

Jacob stared out his windshield into the cul-de-sac. It was a wealthy neighborhood, with big houses. The cul-de-sac had only three, with the biggest house sitting on a rise in the middle, slighter higher than the ones on either side. Jacob eased the Jeep into the cul-de-sac and drove around, pointing it nose out. Before exiting, he scanned the way he had come. Nothing moved. Satisfied, he got out. He left the keys in the ignition and the door opened. He wanted easy access, just in case. Early on, when he thought that he wasn’t the only one left in the world and it wasn’t just him and the horde, he was concerned that someone might try to steal his vehicle. He had planned for such an eventuality by installing a remote kill switch in the engine. He kept the trigger in his pocket. But there was nobody else. There was only him and the horde that took his town, took everything that mattered. While he still carried the remote trigger, the theft of his vehicle was no longer a concern.

He pulled down the tailgate and grabbed his most trusted gun, his favorite gun. It was a Ruger Mark I. Every time he went to it, his thoughts turned to his best friend, Wallace Thompson. Wally. The gun had belonged to his dad. Martin Thompson worked in pest control and one of the trade secrets of his vocation was the Ruger Mark I with a suppressor. Martin used subsonic rounds. A homeowner could be standing right behind Martin when he fired it and the only thing they would hear was the metal sound of the slide moving backwards and forwards on the butter smooth action and the spent brass bouncing off the floor a second later. When the world slipped over the edge, Jacob had gone to see Wally, to check on him. When he reached his house it was too late. Wally and Jordan, his wife, lay dead in their yard. Each had visible bite wounds on their bodies and a .22 long rifle hole in their heads. Eight of the Undead lay scattered about the home, inside and outside, all bearing similar wounds. There were four inside but Jacob took care care of them. He had picked up the Mark I from the ground near Wally. Jacob traded a promise for the gun. He promised he would never forget.

Jacob carried the pistol in his right hand. With his left, he grabbed a crowbar then went to the house. This he carried with him up to the house.

At the door, Jacob set the crowbar down and tried the handle. He always tried the handle first.

Locked.

To the left and right of the door were glass panels. Taking the crowbar, he smashed the glass to the left of the handle, then reached in and worked the deadbolt. He put the crowbar down, then opened the door and assumed a two-handed firing stance. He looked at the watch on his left hand, worn on the inside of his wrist, just below the thumb so he could see it, and waited.