Infected (Book 2): The Flight (9 page)

  With the orange five-gallon bucket in hand, Zeke returned to the group.  “Are you okay?” L.C. questioned.  “We heard a gunshot.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Zeke answered, his voice full of emotion as the memory of his fight replayed in his mind.  “I ran into a sick girl and she attacked me.”

“You killed her, didn’t you?” Meagan asked accusingly.

“I didn’t have a choice, Meagan,” he replied defensively.  “She would have killed me if I didn’t.”  He looked from Mike to L.C., seeking some sort of affirmation that he had done the right thing.  He knew he didn’t have a choice, but he was riddled with guilt.  It was gnawing at him accusingly, tearing at the fiber of his being.  Whatever was said about them on TV, they still looked like people.  The fact that she was a girl made it even worse. Zeke had been taught from the time he was a boy to respect and protect girls.  In spite of that, he had just killed one.  The fact that it had been in defense of his life did little to alleviate the remorse he felt.

“What happened?” L.C. inquired, sensing to some extent the anguish Zeke was experiencing.

Zeke related the story of seeing the person in the road and then the attack.  As he told the story, details and images he hadn’t previously been aware of flashed into his mind.  With each new memory, waves of emotion washed over him.  He began to doubt whether he had done the right thing.  By the time he finished the story, he was fighting tears.  He paused a moment as he considered his words.  “Maybe there was another way.  Maybe I could have done something else to stop her,” he languished.

L.C. put his hand on Zeke’s shoulder.  “Zeke, you didn’t have a choice.  We both saw the same news clips and heard people tell the same stories on TV.  These things aren’t people anymore.  The people died and the virus turned them into animals.  You did everything you possibly could have done to spare its life.  You waited so long before taking action that it almost killed you.  You need to stop beating yourself up over what happened.”  Zeke nodded his head, acknowledging what L.C. was telling him.

“You’re going to experience all kinds of emotions over this during the next few days, but you need to focus on the fact that you didn’t have a choice.  Never question that you did the right thing.” L.C.’s voice faltered almost imperceptibly and he hesitated for several seconds.  When he continued, his voice was steady again. 

“I was involved in two shootings during my career.  Both of them tore me apart.  I second guessed myself just like you’re doing.  My second shooting was caught on a security camera.  Even after watching the video hundreds of times and seeing there was no other option, I still wondered if I could have done something else.  We weren’t made to take lives.  That’s God’s responsibility, but sometimes, for one reason or another, He gives that task to us.  If things keep on like they’re going right now, you’re going to have to do it again and the next time, it might be a regular person and not one of those infected things.  Just know that what you’re feeling is not unusual and almost everybody who has taken another person’s life has felt the same grief.  The guilt will pass over time, but it’s going to get worse before it gets better.  Can you live with it?” he asked sincerely.

“I’m going to have to,” Zeke said dryly, feeling foolish for the emotions he was exhibiting. It felt like weakness to let the others see him in this state, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Seeing that Mike had managed to siphon a full bucket of fuel from the truck’s tank, L.C. asked, “You ready to move out?”

“Yeah,” Zeke said. “Let’s go.”

Without a funnel to channel the fuel directly into the filler spout, Mike spilled at least a third of the bucket down the side of the car.  From the bottom of the rear fender, it dripped onto his shoes before forming rivulets that ran toward the curb.

“Do you want me to go refill the bucket?” Zeke offered as he warily watched groups of people stream passed them.

“No, man, if this works, and there’s no reason it won’t, we’re going to drive this baby into the lot, park it next to the truck, and siphon directly into the tank.”

Mike fished the key out of his pocket, hopped into the driver seat, and turned the engine over for ten seconds without it catching.  “That’s what I figured,” he muttered just loud enough to be audible.  “Zeke or L.C., one of you guys pull out the back seat.  There’s a fuel pump beneath it.  You’ll need to pull out the plastic trim around the two car seat latches and then you can lift the seat up.  Pull up the carpet and take off the round cover in the middle to get at the pump.  I’m going to work on accessing the pump in the engine compartment.”  Turning to Meagan, he asked, “Mind if I take that tool bag off your hands?” 

She was quick to relinquish the small canvas bag she had been carrying since Mike had discovered it in the side compartment of the semi.  It contained an assortment of basic tools ranging from pliers and screw drivers to hammers and vice grips.  It even had a roll of duct tape and a coiled section of rusty bailing wire.  L.C. had joked that the owner of the truck must have been a farmer when he wasn’t driving.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” L.C inquired.

“You a gear head?” Mike asked.

“No, short of changing the oil, I don’t know how to do much, but if you point me in the right direction I’ll do what I can.”

“Alright,” Mike said.  “Use these pliers and loosen the two fittings here and here,” he said as he tapped them with the pliers.  “They’re the injectors.  We need to bleed the air out of the system.  If it still won’t run, we’ll need to bust those two fittings loose over there, too, but I think these will be enough to get her running again.”

Using a short piece of the bailing wire, Mike jumped the terminals on the fuel pumps, both of which hummed to life. Seconds later, fuel began spurting from the base of the loosened connections on the injectors. When he was satisfied with his work, he reattached the electrical connectors to the pumps, tightened the injector fittings, and got back in the car.  “Cross your fingers,” he said and turned the key.  The engine turned over for several seconds with no effect before it began to sputter, and then suddenly roared to life. “Wachaaa!” Mike yelled in glee.  “We’re done walking!”

It only took a couple minutes to drive to the lot where the big rig was parked.    Zeke, who was riding in the front passenger seat, slipped out of the car, put a bullet through the lock, and rolled the gate open enough to allow passage of the car.  L.C pulled the car around the building and stopped beside the big rig. 

Mike quickly had the siphon going again and stood by the fuel filler spout until diesel began overflowing.  He quickly pulled the hose out, coiled it up, and yelled, “Hey, L.C., pop the trunk so I can stow this hose in case we need to refill down the road.”  There was a click and the trunk lid rose half an inch.  Mike tossed the hose in next to the bucket and slammed the lid.

As soon as the lid shut, the locking mechanism clicked again and the lid rose half an inch.  L.C. said, “Put your boots in there or you’re walking.  We’re not going to smell that diesel stench all the way to California.”

An hour later, L.C. was driving west on a two lane highway away from Atlanta.  There had been significant debate as to how to get to California.  Mike had pushed for taking the northern route, picking up I-80, while L.C. wanted to take the southern route through Texas.  Meagan and Zeke didn’t have a preference.

In the end, L.C. won out by practicality.  When they left Atlanta, the path of least resistance had taken them southwest of the city and they ended up on Highway 166 which more or less paralleled I-20.  Highway 166 was a two lane highway, but at three in the morning, the traffic was manageable.  Defunct vehicles had, for the most part, made their way onto the shoulder. Eventually, they planned to shoot up north to I-20, well west of Atlanta where they hoped traffic on the interstate would be lighter. 

Everything went fine until they worked their way up to I-20 after thirty minutes of traveling on Highway 166.  Even though they were thirteen miles from the city, traffic on I-20 was still snarled, crawling at a nearly imperceptible rate.  They could hear horns blaring long before they saw the gridlock. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Mike complained.  “We should have taken the northern route.”

“Maybe,” Zeke said, “but do you think traffic would be any better?  I’m pretty sure every major freeway out of the city is going to look like this.”  Unfamiliar with the Jetta’s GPS, Zeke’s fingers fumbled as he searched for an alternate route. Scrolling through options, he found one that routed without traversing the Interstate freeway system.  It was an option, he mused, that probably never got used.  After about a minute, the computer spit out a new route to California.  This scenic route was made up entirely of back roads.   

“New plan,” he said to L.C.  “Turn this buggy around and head back to 166.  We’ll follow it through Carrollton and on into Alabama.”

“Ten-four. Changing course.  I’m going to need a break here before too long.  Is anybody else up to driving for a while?” L.C. questioned through a sleepy yawn.

“I’m wide awake,” Meagan offered.  “Let me drive.”

“Little lady, you don’t have to offer twice,” L.C. replied as he drifted out of the lane and onto the shoulder.  “If you would be kind enough to swap places with me, I’m going to check out the back of my eyelids for a while.” Within a couple minutes of having completed the switch, L.C. was snoring softly.

“Wake me up if you get tired or have any problems.” Zeke said as he curled up against the door and closed his eyes. “Stay on this road until you reach Alabama.”

An hour later, Zeke was awakened by a deep boom coupled with Meagan slamming on the brakes and screaming, “What do we do now?”

Zeke sat upright, his mind foggy as he was roused from deep sleep.  His bearings returned quickly.  They were at a complete stop in the road.  On the shoulder just ahead of them was a digital traffic sign with a lighted message stating “Closure enforced with deadly force.”  A hundred yards past the sign, the road was blocked with a concrete barricade, and a hundred feet beyond the barricade was the fiery hulk of a vehicle.  The dancing flames illuminated a trail of grey smoke descending sharply from the sky to the car.  The edges of the smoke trail still swirled angrily.  

“What happened?” L.C. yelled from the backseat. 

“The car I was following went around the barricade.  I was about to follow it when a ball of fire appeared in the sky above the gas station over there. It raced down and the car exploded.”

Zeke opened his door and jumped out of the car.  The thumping of helicopter rotors eclipsed the roar of the lusty flames licking skyward from the shattered body of the unrecognizable vehicle ahead of them.  Although he couldn’t see the helicopter, he was able to discern that it was orbiting around them overhead.  He looked from the burning vehicle to the advisory sign and back to the smoke trail that dissipated into the inky blackness of the night sky. The fire lit up enough of a smoke trail to extrapolate its trajectory to above the gas station where Meagan claimed the fireball had originated.

L.C., who had also exited the car, came to the same conclusion as Zeke and hastily crammed his six foot four inch frame back into the vehicle while yelling, “Get us out of here!”

Meagan was frozen in her seat, eyes glued to the inferno lighting up the road ahead.  Terror grasped her body like a straightjacket, locking her in indecision.  She knew she had to drive, but her body wouldn’t respond to her wishes.  She was aware of Zeke sliding back into the seat beside her and putting his left foot over the center console as his hand reached for the gear shift.  He moved his hand to the steering wheel as he kicked her foot off the brake pedal.  The engine screamed and the car ripped backwards as if it were about to be crushed by a demon escaping the fires of hell.

In the backseat, Mike was screaming, “Go! Go! Go!” Zeke needed no prodding.  It only took an instant to realize that the road closure was being enforced by a military helicopter, probably from the Alabama National Guard.  They were obviously serious about maintaining the sovereignty of their state line.  As Meagan came out of her catatonia, she involuntarily lurched, hitting Zeke’s arm.  The impact was negligible, but at forty-five miles per hour, in reverse, it only took a small deviation of steering input to shoot the car off the road, through a fence and into a pasture.  Pushing the brake pedal did little to slow the car on the dew soaked grass.  The car continued to slide until it slammed into a tree.

Zeke, who was sitting astride the center console, was catapulted into the backseat where his body wedged between L.C. and Mike.

Everybody sat stunned, dismayed by the carnage they had narrowly escaped. They all realized that if they hadn’t been following another car, they would have driven passed the barrier and been blown to bits.  The violence of the impact with the tree had shocked them into an unmoving silence.  Zeke was unsure of how long he sat between L.C. and Mike before L.C. finally broke the silence.

“Is everybody okay?” he questioned.

“Just a little shaken,” Mike answered.

“I’m all right,” Meagan said slowly, realizing that she was responsible for the wreck.

“How about you, Zeke?” L.C. prodded.  “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so, but everything hurts,” Zeke stammered, still dazed from being slammed into the back seat.

“If they were going to blow us up, I think they already would have,” L.C. quipped. “But, I would sure feel better if we didn’t sit around and find out.”

The car refused to budge no matter how much Meagan tried to coax it.  Mike finally gave up hope and relented, “It looks like we’re back to hoofing it, at least for the time being.”

The quartet exited the car and was attempting to rub the soreness out of their necks as they looked at the diminishing flames four hundred yards away.

Suddenly, a blinding spotlight illuminated behind them. “Are you all right?” a voice asked with genuine concern.  As the group turned, they were blinded by an intense beam shining from the porch of a house fifty yards away.

L.C. answered for the group, “I think we’re going to make it. We had a little accident.  The helicopter just launched a missile at that car that’s burning beyond the blockade. We were trying to get away before we became the next target.  We’re really sorry about your fence.”

“Don’t worry about the fence, Son,” the voice said without malice.  “That’s the third car they’ve blown up tonight.  The others made it a little further passed the roadblock.  They’re working extra hard to keep the infection from spreading into Alabama.  The news says there aren’t any confirmed cases there yet.  Where are you folks heading?” the voice asked.

“We’re on our way to California,” Zeke answered, his hand shielding his eyes, trying see who was behind the light.

“Do you have a place to stay the night?” 

“We were planning on driving straight through,” Zeke answered as he stepped toward the voice on the porch.

“Hold it there, Son.  I don’t want you coming any closer.  I’m going to get some blankets and set them on the porch.  Ya’ll can spend the night there.  If ya’ll are healthy in the morning, we’ll be happy to feed you breakfast before you head out.”

The light was extinguished and a spring squeaked as it pulled the screen door closed with a bang.  Interior lights illuminated and a minute later, the porch light came on and the spring squeaked again as the screen was opened.  An old man between eighty and ninety years old dropped a pile of blankets on the porch.  A woman, five or ten years his junior, set a plate of something down on a patio table. 

The old man spoke again. “The name’s Lester and this is my lovely bride Mildred.  I feel bad making you sleep outside, but until we’re sure you not sick, we can’t let you in.  I hope you understand,” he added apologetically.  “Sleep tight.  We’ll see you in the morning.”

“We understand and we’re grateful for the hospitality,” Zeke answered appreciatively. 

“In case you’re hungry, I set a plate of cookies on the table,” the old woman said as an afterthought before she followed Lester through the doorway and back into the house. The screen slammed shut behind her. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going to dig into those cookies,” Mike exclaimed, bounding up the steps to the porch two at a time.

Zeke’s watch showed 6:40 when the sun finally peaked up over the treetops behind the house, tossing a warm array of pink and orange along the base of the clouds scattered above the eastern horizon.  Everyone else was still sprawled out on the porch. Mike and L.C. had laid their blankets on the redwood boards as a type of makeshift mattress. Meagan had chosen to curl up directly on top of the wooden planks and was using her blanket to chase off the chill of the cool morning air.  Zeke had lost his desire to sleep and cautiously sat guard in an old lawn chair with faded nylon weave that threatened to finish unraveling and dump him on the ground if he moved the wrong way.  His sore back and neck wouldn’t allow him to sleep on the ground.  Between the vehicle ahead of them being blown to smithereens and the crash, too much adrenaline had been dumped into his blood stream for him to sleep anyway.

As he pondered how to best continue the trip westward, he heard a lock click and the screen door spring squeak again.  Lester emerged from the house looking none the worse for the late night visitors.  Mike sat upright and stretched, attempting to work the stiffness out of his muscles.  Meagan moaned lightly as a yawn escaped her lips. L.C. looked up at Lester, but other than a tilt of his head, didn’t move. 

“How’s everybody feeling?” Lester asked, looking from person to person, inspecting each for signs of sickness.  “If you had it, I suppose you would have symptoms by now, wouldn’t you?” he asked thoughtfully.  “You’re probably hungry, aren’t you?  Why don’t ya’ll come on inside.  Mildred baked up a pan of biscuits and made some gravy to go with them.”

As the group moved inside, Zeke looked skyward at the helicopter which was still patrolling nearly a mile away.  The original helicopter must have been spelled by another craft at some point during the night. 

Following breakfast, Mildred stood up to clear the table.  “I’ve got it,” Meagan said as she put a hand on Mildred’s shoulder and told her to sit back down.  “You got up early to cook breakfast. I’ll clean up the mess.”

“I’ll give her a hand,” Mike volunteered.  “You stay here and relax.” 

Several hours after breakfast, the six adults were sitting in front of the television, transfixed just as they had been the day before.  Today, the video showed local carnage.  The infection had taken hold in Atlanta and had spread to surrounding areas.  As the infection spread, the infected began bunching up in groups.  When they moved in ones and twos, they were easy to dispatch.  As the groups grew, defenses were overcome by their sheer numbers.  Videos showed larger and larger groups moving together.  There was no discernible reason for where they went.  Some groups stayed in urban areas where there were large numbers of people to prey upon.  In other places groups traveled through the woods away from the city.  The movement seemed to be random, according those who claimed to be experts on the day old phenomenon.

When coverage returned to national news, the local station occasionally interrupted the network feed to advise of the location of a large horde moving through an area.   At about 2:30 in the afternoon, the local anchor came on screen to report that a horde of at least a hundred infected was moving west out of Bowden along Highway 166. 

“We’re on Highway 166 right now,” Meagan stammered with terror edging through her voice.  “How far is Bowden from here?” she asked in a wavering voice.

“It’s less than three miles, sweetie,” Mildred answered, not picking up on the reason for Meagan’s fear.

L.C. briskly rose from his seat and strode to the door.  “Come on, Zeke.  I have a bad feeling we’re about to need those long guns that are out in the car.”