“Thanks.” he deadpanned to their giggles, then gently took the crow bar from Charlie and levered the capstone aside.
“Wait!” Ting cried and grabbed her phone. “I have to film!”
The treasure was a little underwhelming but it didn’t matter. The engineer in the Tower would pay for the sixteen porcelain panels in the teak wood box. They were a brief history of the United States and told a little about the carvings. All in all, rather boring but they were definitely unique and that’s all that mattered to the nouveau riche in the Tower. They wanted items that were rare, preferably the only one in existence. To them, it was the only form of currency that meant anything. To some of the people outside the glass and chrome building, a tank of fuel or a 24 pack of toilet paper had more value.
Charlie pulled his crew cab around to the employee parking lot, away from the hundreds of furry and feathered corpses starting to fester in the noon day sun, and the four cleaned up, patched up and caught up. Even with their cars a few yards away, Charlie kept a hand-held radio clipped to his belt.
“Saved us, now didn’t it?” he said. “I need to find a better one, though. This one doesn’t have enough power.”
“Next time you’re in Lakota, have Wire Bender jigger with it.” Jessie said. “He’ll hook you up and won’t charge you anything that might cost your life.”
He was still annoyed that the Tower was so stingy with their knowledge or services. It wasn’t right that people had to risk life and limb to get anything out of them when the rest of the settlements had fair trade.
With the first aid kit in the truck, they irrigated wounds, stitched up a few deep gashes and Charlie gulped down a few yellow pills from a prescription bottle. Vicodin for his eye which was gone for good. A talon had sunk deep into it and the orb had collapsed.
“Guess these will be going to one of the docs.” he said and patted the teakwood box. “If the engineer really wants them, he’ll have to do some horse trading on his own.”
“High price to pay.” Jessie said, thinking of his own disfiguring scar.
“It’s what we do, Baby.” Charlie replied in his Elvis voice. “I can’t live behind the walls; the King needs to be free.”
Ting fussed over him, daubed all of his scratches with iodine and ignored his constant complaining that it stung. Jessie’s had long since stopped bleeding and were already starting to scab over. He applied dressings and salve to Scarlets and kept an eye on the black-eyed birds watching them from the trees. Bob paced and occasionally growled a warning at the woods surrounding them but no other animals tried to attack.
Jessie wanted to go. To get back on the road but Scarlet insisted they stay and at least share a meal. Meetings on the road with friends were rare and it would be rude not to break bread together.
“Where you go now?” Ting asked as they dug through their food stuffs to mix and match and come up with a good afternoon meal.
“We’re headed East.” Jessie said, a little evasively.
Charlie caught his eye and Jessie looked away, stared at the majesty of the mountains towering above them.
“What is East?” she asked and pulled out a packet of hamburger from their propane refrigerator. “You like chili, Scarlet? Charlie show me good Tex-Mex recipe.”
Jessie let the question go unanswered and the subject changed to who was doing what and which treasures had been recovered and the good news about a thriving settlement Eric the Blackhand had discovered in Nova Scotia. He’d led a team far to the north for an extended retrieval mission and traveled across Canada to avoid the massive hordes east of the Mississippi. They didn’t go far enough north though and barely got away from a horde they ran into outside of Quebec. Some of them didn’t. The survivors found a fishing village on one of the islands and the residents had voted to move the entire population to a warmer climate.
Jessie had met Eric a few times, the man was intense. He was generally a loner but worked with a crew if he needed extra muscle. He’d hire on a few guys that had the equipment or the skills he needed for a particular job. He’d gotten his name from one of his arms being burnt during a desperate battle at the beginning of the outbreak. He didn’t talk about it but rumor was that he set a building on fire as a last-ditch effort to escape a horde that had broken down his groups’ defenses.
“So I heard they were going to settle down on the coast in Texas.” Charlie said, continuing his story. “Going to transplant an entire town, a few hundred people, down to someplace a little warmer. They’re too far out up there to be on any trade routes and who wants to stay up there anyway? Too dang cold. They’re going to make the trip down in fishing boats, clear a town and set up a container wall like Lakota.”
They whiled away the afternoon talking cars and tactics, cleaning guns and swapping stories as the Chili simmered over the flames. Ting disappeared into the woods with Bob to “water the flowers” and a squeal from her brought them all to their feet.
“Sorry!” she yelled. “I okay. I find berries!”
With a yellow cake mix and butter from the crew cab, cinnamon and brown sugar from the Mercury and a pail of raspberries from Mother Nature, a half hour later they had a cobbler baking in the coals for dessert.
It was a peaceful, enjoyable fellowship and laughter came easy. For Jessie, it reaffirmed why he was fighting, why he was trying so hard to make the world a better place. It was just a simple meal with friends without the threat of raiders trying to kill them or a cult forcing them to join. It was people being free to do what they wanted. It was something worth fighting for.
The zombies were slowing down, falling apart and in another decade, they’d be mostly gone. He believed in what his dad was doing, knew they had to set up a strong union because without it, Casey’s band of outlaws or the Anubis Movement would swallow up separate communities. They had to stick together and fight for each other or they would all fall one by one.
The war had started in the north and the Anubis armies had been defeated. They were at their weakest and the time to finish them off was now, before they could rebuild. Cobb had hinted that his dad may have infiltrated the Raiders and was trying to take them down from the inside, their army was too strong to fight head on. He and Scarlet were going to do something similar to the Cult after they met with the doctor there. The medicine from the Tower didn’t seem to be doing much good. Maybe Stevens would help, all they could do was try. If not, they would finish their business then get back to the Tower in time to get their results from the blood tests. The runners on her arms seemed to be getting darker and spreading faster and her eye had the dark lines burrowing into it.
He smiled and shared stories, laughed at Charlies jokes and ate the chili but he watched her. Watched her movements as they seemed to pain her sometimes. Watched her as she seemed to be a part of them but separate. Watched her and worried. Watched her and ached to know how to fix her. The doctor that created the inoculations might be their only hope.
Time was running out. Everything would be over in another week. They’d be victors or they’d be dead. It was a price he was willing to pay because he didn’t think he could go on if she didn’t make it. If they couldn’t stop the spread.
“Right Jessie?” he heard her say and snapped back to the conversation.
“What?” he asked.
Scarlet ruffled his hair.
“I said Charlie can make us married. He can be the preacher at our wedding.”
“I’m not ready to settle down.” Jessie said and hid a grin. “I might want to date more girls.”
Scarlets eyes narrowed.
“Silly Jessie. How you date more girls when you have no man parts?” she asked, drew close and pointed her knife between his legs.
“Well, since you put it that way.” Jessie said and rubbed noses with her. “But only if he dresses like Elvis.”
They laughed but he noticed the cold sheen of sweat on her brow and the heat coming from her. He needed to get her to the headquarters.
&nb
sp; No more delays.
They needed to go.
Scarlet wouldn’t hear of it. They were going to camp on top of the heads, have a campfire and drink wine. Jessie caught a look in her eye, almost a pleading that she tried to hide behind a smile. He didn’t know if it was because she needed to put off killing her father for one more day or if she needed to laugh and be happy and enjoy living, maybe for the last time.
He would kill for her.
He would die for her.
He would camp on top of Jefferson’s head for her.
21
Jessie + Scarlet
Jessie drove into the sun, the bright morning glow of orange nearly blinding as they made their way across the plains. He tore off a piece of tape and placed it on the windshield, right where the sun was trying to burn out his eyes, and kept driving. Scarlet slept fitfully, her head curled in his lap, blankets stuffed between the bucket seats to make a bed. He could see the runners on her face and arms, could almost see them move. The black lines were like a centipede’s legs spreading away from the scars. The whole side of her face was turning darker, the lines ran up into her eye and the lid had the spidery veins starting to cover it.
Jessie drove.
They had laughed long into the night with Charlie Safari and Ting Wei. Perched atop the granite heads of great men and staring at the brilliant sky, they talked of many things. Hopes and dreams. New beginnings and old endings. Would they be remembered in history or forgotten by the next generation. Would they ever travel to the stars? Would some other epidemic come along and wipe out the rest of mankind? Who should be the new president or run for office? What great treasure hunt would they embark on next? Why did Scratch play such godawful music during his radio shows? Who had gotten married and who was expecting a baby.
It was a strange feeling to realize that you probably knew almost everybody in America. If not personally, then by reputation or sight. Even stranger was if they didn’t know everyone, everyone knew them. The Road Angel had a reputation even though he tried to avoid the spotlight. Charlie had one because he was always in the spotlight.
It had been a memorable evening, one of the best he’d ever had with friends but when they woke, no matter how hard she tried to hide it, he could tell she wasn’t feeling well. She was much worse. The runners had spread.
Jessie drove.
The best medicine the tower had wasn’t stopping it. He mulled over it and he would turn the car around right now to go back but it wouldn’t do any good. Doctor Samed had been clear, there was nothing they could do without the bloodwork being completed and that simply couldn’t be rushed. He was afraid to give her more medicine, it seemed to make the spread go faster but he was afraid not to. What if it was the only thing slowing it down? What if she didn’t take it and the black started accelerating?
Jessie drove.
His best hope now was the scientist at the Anubis compound. The Doctor Stevens she talked about. Maybe he knew more than the Tower doctors did. Maybe he would know how to stop it. If he could get him to cooperate, that is. Scarlet was the enemy after all. He was formulating a plan of sorts. She knew the layout and if they could sneak in and not be seen, if they could somehow convince him to help, if he knew more than the other doctors, if he didn’t poison her intentionally or sound the alarm…
The list of what ifs was too long. Jessie knew he couldn’t force the man to do anything. He had to want to help. If he didn’t, no matter what they did, he could simply lie and waste time until the infection reached her brain and started changing who she was. Started turning her into one of the undead. They would seek his help. If he wouldn’t, then they were back to plan A. Kill the chain of command, end the war, drive back to the tower by the time the bloodwork was ready. Simple, brutish and unexpected. They could be in and out in a matter of hours if Stevens wouldn’t do anything for them. If he would, they could remain hidden until he reversed the disease.
Jessie drove.
It was the only plan they had and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like to have her life in the hands of one man who may or may not be inclined to help. He traced the dark runners on her arm with his finger and his heart hurt. He would trade places with her if he could. Give her all of his own blood in a transfusion if he could. Die so she might live if he could. The miles rolled by, the zombies few and far between in the isolation of the high plain’s states. The little villages he blasted through were either deserted or haunted by the undead who turned rotting faces toward the sound of his machine. They stumbled after him but most couldn’t find their way out of town and returned to their aimless wandering. An empty, aching hunger driving them on and wearing them down. Husks of humans whose skin was brittle and broke easily. Dried out remnants who were baking in the late summer heat and would soon be frozen in place again, their rotting brains the only thing left alive and generating enough heat not to freeze solid. Deadly snowmen unable to move but able to bite if you got too close.
Jessie drove.
The music was low, the windows were down, the tires hummed on the asphalt and Scarlet slept. She was sweating and her forehead was hot to the touch. The old fever that had started it all, that nearly killed her while they recovered in the farmhouse, was coming back. Jessie didn’t regret their summer together, not one bit. From the rocky and distrustful beginning to the absolute insanely giddy high he’d felt since he discovered where her heart lay, since the day they met the children from the safari. Since he’d realized she was true and special and they were alike. That they were meant to be together. That he loved her harder and deeper than life itself. She stirred in her fitful sleep and moaned a little. Jessie grieved for her. His heart ached. They were racing headlong into a big unknown that might have them both dead by this time tomorrow and he didn’t know what else to do. He took another sip of his bitter trucker speed and chased the black asphalt ribbon towards the horizon.
Jessie drove.
22
Lakota
The big truck hissed and kicked up a small cloud of dust as Hot Rod pulled the valves to set the brakes then stretched, yawning loudly. They’d made it back before dark, if just barely. It had been a hammer down run, some sixteen hundred miles of two lane back roads with an occasional freeway sprint where they knew it was clear. The rigs thundered through the night and roared through countless small towns during the daylight hours. They left broken husks splattered all over the roads in many of the little towns they passed through. They kept the wheels rolling, their trade route stops were all drop and hook, they were in and out within minutes. The safest place to be out in the wastelands was in a fast moving, up armored semi. The routes had been cleared of wrecks and were mostly clear of the undead. If a storm had blown through since the last time anyone ran it, they had to be careful of debris or fallen trees but for the most part, they kept moving. The rigs never shut down even during refueling. It had been nearly a week since they left the Tower. Days of constant movement, constant vigilance and constant worry about ambushes.
Hot Rod and Jim went through the long-established procedures of getting out of the truck by checking their mirrors and seeing as much as they could though the bars on the windows. If it looked clear, they hopped out and quickly got a few steps away from the rig. More than once, half of a rotted corpse had been caught up in the fenders or frame and their snapping jaws could still kill a man as sure as any bullet.
The Lakota walls loomed above them as a task force came through a man door to greet them.
“That’s new.” Hot Rod said, indicating the door as the men joined them looking for rotters with some life left in them hanging on the trucks or trailers.
“Yeah. Finally got approval from Cobb to put it in.” Phil said. “Been telling him for months it would make the place a little more secure. Better than opening the main gates every time somebody wants in or out. You know city hall, though. Takes forever to get anything done.”
“I hear ya.” Hot Rod said “We picked up a crowd at a crossroads a fe
w miles back. We killed a bunch of ‘em but the rest are right behind us, they’ll be here shortly.”
“No worries, got it covered. I’ll send a team out. It’s been a weird couple of weeks since you left. Glad to have you back, brother.”
The chief of perimeter security filled him in as they dislodged chunks of the dead with long poles. A cleanup crew would be out later to dispose of the bodies.
“One of my guards and his wife fell off the wall, got torn apart before anyone could get to them. Arnie swears up and down she jumped and pulled him off. Left a little baby behind.”
“That’s strange.” Hot Rod said and helped Jimmy dislodge a leg that was tangled in the landing gear. “I guess you never really know what’s going on inside of people’s heads.”
“Yeah. The president’s disappeared again. Some say he headed up north. Some say him and Griz took off after the Raiders but I don’t know what two guys can do against an army.”
Hot Rod smacked the mud flaps, loosing pieces of gore then leaned on his stick.
“I’ve seen him fight. Scary guy. Him and Griz both.”
“Yeah, I know. But still…” Phil broke off. “I see Mizz Lacey every day when I go in the office. It’s tearing her up, both her husband and son off running around the wastelands. He should be here doing his job and the kid should be in school.”
“Might have to disagree with you on that one, Phil. That boy is something else. I was up at Blackfoot when the town fell to the Cult. Me and the boys hightailed it out of there, there was nothing we could do but the next day, I hear on the radio that all the Anubis assholes are dead, the town is rebuilding and they say the Road Angel and his girl did it by themselves. Killed all of them.”
“And you believe half the crap Bastille says on his show?” Phil asked dismissively. “The survivors probably mounted a counter attack and the kid happened to be there.”
Zombie Road VI: Highway to Heartache Page 18
