Deluge | Book 2 | Phage

by Kevin Partner

  She’d seen no other people in the hour since she’d set off, and now took a small path that dipped down into the forest, stumbling down the rock-strewn track as the trees closed around her and she lost all sight of the road. If she got lost now, her only hope would be to head up and pray she recognized something.

  Her knees began to ache, so she started walking crablike back and forth across the trail to ease the slope. She stopped for a few minutes to eat one of the energy bars Masie had given her for the journey. Climbing up onto the warm surface of a large boulder that looked down over a wooded cliff, she surveyed the scene.

  The trees were smaller here and they clung to the rock face as it headed down. From here, she could see the other side of a valley rising up so she felt as though she were inside a crater, or the cone of a volcano.

  The sun warmed her skin, tingling her bare legs as she swung them over the side of the rock. She sat there like a lizard, face upwards, eyes closed, listening to the gulls in the air above her and the little birds in the trees to either side. Then she tensed as she heard another sound. An electric whine from down below. As she listened, she tried to remember where she’d heard it before, but she couldn’t place it. But it was definitely artificial and it was coming from the valley floor. Someone was down there.

  She got up, rubbed the last of the warmth into her legs and climbed down off the rock. Swinging her pack across her shoulder, she took the straightest route down the hill, not bothering to follow the road as it meandered its way gently downward.

  Crashing through the trees, she flung out her hands on either side to keep her speed under control and nearly lost her footing when she tripped on a hidden root before, finally, the ground leveled out.

  Ahead of her, she saw a fence made of dense chain-link. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could feel the air humming with electricity, so she kept her distance, following the perimeter around to the left and trying to squint through the tiny gaps. Inside, a second and obviously older fence followed the first, and the combination of the two made it impossible to make anything much out.

  Finally, she rounded the edge, climbing over a small rise and onto a road surface of cracked asphalt that climbed away up the side of the valley. The road ended at a high chain-link gate with a guard platform above the entrance and an old man leaning on an ATV and smoking just inside.

  As soon as he saw her, he snapped upright, picked up a shotgun and shambled closer to the fence.

  “Hey, where in the world have you come from, darlin’?”

  She bit down her anger and tried adopting her finest smile. “Pleased to meet you. Do you know Dom, Masie and Crystal?”

  His eyes widened. “Why, sure! Are they okay? How’s Dom doin’?”

  “I guess you’re Hank, then. They’re alright. Dom’s in a pretty bad way, but we’ve got two sick kids on our boat and Masie said you’ve got meds here.”

  Hank scratched his jaw with his dirty fingers. “Maybe we have, but we don’t have much and the boss ain’t inclined to share them.”

  “Did you hear what I said? We’ve got very sick children. They’ll die without help.” She knew Jodi wouldn’t appreciate being called a child, but Ellie wanted to use every bit of ammunition in her armory.

  “Well, I don’t know. The boss gave strict orders…”

  “So ask him!”

  “But he’s awful busy right now.”

  She wrapped her fingers around the fence and shook it. “Kids are dying! Now ask him or so help me God…”

  “Okay, lady!” he said, stepping back and pulling a walkie-talkie from the back of the ATV.

  “This is Hank calling Buzz, are you there?”

  Ellie’s mouth dropped open and for a second or two she couldn’t form words.

  A voice answered, “What is it, Hank? I’ve got my hands full here.”

  “Buzz Baxter?” she called out.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My name’s Ellie Fischer. I’ve got your niece on my boat. And she’s dying.”

  Buzz Baxter looked nothing like Ellie expected. She wasn’t sure what she imagined, but it wasn’t a lean man wearing black-rimmed glasses over brown eyes that spoke more of kindness than intelligence. No white lab coat, no gray beard and no mustache.

  She thought all these things as she watched him approach at speed on an ATV. Despite the urgency, she was enjoying having someone actually listen to her for once. And, she couldn’t help believing that he’d know what to do. She could see a house across the rough grass and scrub and, set to one side, a row of barn-like buildings. The farthest was open on the front and she could see animals moving. People moved back and forth between the two sets of buildings, many of them too small to be adults. What was going on here?

  With an electric whine and a crunch of gravel, the ATV came to a halt on the other side of the gate. Hank moved to one side as Buzz Baxter jumped off the back of the bike and ran toward them.

  “Is it true? You’ve got Jodi with you?”

  “Yeah. She’s very sick, however, so I suggest you come with me if you’ve got an effective treatment.”

  He nodded, then barked at Hank to open the gate before getting back on the ATV and driving it through.

  “Get on,” he said, waiting as she climbed behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest before setting off along the road. “Where’s the boat?”

  She described as best she could and he seemed to understand.

  “We should have enough juice to get there. Has she got a high fever?”

  “Yeah. She’s had it for days, so she’s badly dehydrated. We’ve also got another sick one, a kid.”

  He cursed under his breath. “Good grief. It seems to hit the young hardest. I hope we’re in time.”

  When they reached the top of the valley, the wind made further conversation impossible, so Ellie tried to relax a little, allowing her legs to recover.

  It seemed to take forever to make it back to a road she recognized. Baxter’s head turned as they passed the white Colonial house where they’d met Dom, Masie and Crystal.

  She felt her face flush as they passed the huge tree stump where she and Patrick had kissed. So insignificant in the context of everything that was happening, and yet it mattered. Though she didn’t really understand why. She was used to men finding her attractive, especially older men, and perhaps that was enough to explain it. But there was a desperate urgency in his kiss that spoke of more than desire. And she’d felt it too.

  They began to head down and then she saw Kujira. It had been brought close to the bank and she hoped that meant Patrick had made it back safely.

  Then she saw him, standing on the box, looking for her. She saw the relief and saw him hurrying to pull on the anchoring rope to bring the boat a little closer to the shore.

  She waved and felt glad, then almost fell off the back of the ATV as Buzz brought it to an abrupt halt.

  Patrick jumped off the end of the bow—more arthritic than action hero—and strode toward them, hand extended.

  “Buzz! Good to see you again!”

  Although she was behind him, Ellie could sense that Baxter didn’t recognize the man walking up the slope.

  “We met at Joel’s last birthday bash. I’m Patrick Reid.”

  “Ah, of course. Joel told me you’d act as Jodi’s guardian during the crisis.”

  Patrick’s smile disappeared. “So, you did know about it in advance.”

  “No, not for certain. What’s Jodi’s condition?”

  Reid led Baxter toward the boat as Ellie followed, apparently unnoticed by them both.

  “She’s very sick. I’ve given her two amoxycillin—crushed them up in a little water and dribbled it into her mouth. Her and Lewis.”

  “Lewis?”

  “Yeah. He’s got it bad too. They’re a package, Ed.”

  Ellie followed them as they clambered onto the bow and through into Jodi’s cabin. Buzz’s reaction to his first sight of the girl told her everything
she needed to know about Jodi’s condition.

  “Good God.”

  Chapter 12

  Castaic

  “Hamish!” Bobby hissed.

  “You remember my name, then? That makes me go all mushy inside.”

  Bobby remembered him well enough. He’d been one of the men who’d attacked the radio station on the day after the wave.

  “What happened to you? Last I knew, Hollick had you locked up in the station.”

  “Is that right? Well, I guess that explains why you weren’t around to gloat when we was sent on our way.” He carried a small, snub-nosed revolver which he swapped from hand to hand as if it was a hot coal while he picked his way toward them.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yeah, all your friends turned the other way when old Colonel Sanders set us to swimmin’ back the way we came!”

  “He did what?”

  “Don’t play dumb, old Hamish ain’t fooled so easily. ’Cause of him, Otis drownded, right next to me. Grabbed me and nearly took me down. But I survived: found me a posse to go back and…” He made a “pow” shape with his lips and mimed pulling a trigger.

  “What happened to my daughter?”

  “Pretty little thing, weren’t she?”

  “Where is she now?” Bobby snarled.

  “But who’s this? I hardly noticed him. Hey fella, I wouldn’t take up with him,” Hamish said, gesturing at Bobby, “or he’s apt to leave you to swim when it suits him.”

  The man who’d first ambushed them came to stand beside Hamish, keeping his pistol aimed at Bobby’s chest.

  “Where’s Maria?” Bobby said again, trying desperately to keep his anger under control.

  A wide wolfish grin spread across Hamish’s sly face. “Well, she sure was fun. I wonder what she’d think now ol’ Hamish has got her pappy caught like a racoon in a trap. Maybe she’s waiting for her pappy to come join her?”

  “What are you saying?”

  The grin spread wider as Hamish lifted his eyes momentarily to the sky. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  Bobby launched himself, gunfire bouncing off the canyon walls as a round fizzed past his ear. A second shot went wild as he tackled Hamish and the two men went rolling over the gritty ground.

  “Get him!” Hamish growled over Bobby’s shoulder. Then his fist flashed out and connected with Bobby’s chin, sending him twisting onto his back so that he looked up at the blue sky beyond the canyon walls.

  A large figure blocked out the sunshine, and then the bruised face of Hamish appeared closer, a knife in his hand. “Now, I’m gonna cut you bad. Dex,” he said, looking up at the bigger man, “if he tries anything, blow his brains out.”

  Fear flooded Bobby’s guts as the weasel-man lifted the blade, tongue flicking between his open lips.

  “I’m gonna enjoy this,” he said as Bobby braced himself for the coming agony.

  Then a cry and a shape flew across his vision behind Hamish.

  Crack!

  The weasel looked up reflexively, and Bobby thrust up with his open palm, knocking Hamish’s head back. He twisted over, bringing his fist across his enemy’s face, only dimly aware of the struggle happening to one side of him.

  The knife flashed and pain exploded, but Bobby grabbed the wrist and, with a power he hadn’t known himself capable of, he twisted it until, with a yell, the fingers opened and he grabbed the knife as it fell through the air.

  But Hamish kicked out, knocking Bobby onto his side, then the snub-nosed revolver came around, pointing at Bobby’s face. But then Hamish’s mouth widened in surprise, he let out a yell and blood ran down onto Bobby’s arm as he twisted the blade until, finally, Hamish fell to one side.

  Bang!

  Bobby looked across as he pushed his opponent away. The wheelchair was empty.

  “Michael!” he said, forcing himself up and scrambling across to where two figures lay inert.

  The big man Hamish had called Dex covered Michael’s leaner body, a red circle of blood penetrating the deep blue denim of his jacket.

  Bobby groaned as he hauled the dead man off Michael.

  “Are you hurt?” he gasped as Michael opened his eyes.

  He looked down and had his answer. Michael’s left arm was covered in blood. Dust and grit had stuck to the wound as he’d tussled with Dex, but new blood was forcing its way through.

  Leaving aside the mystery of how Michael had gotten himself out of his wheelchair, he dragged him across and hauled his friend back into the seat. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, swinging the pack over his shoulder and then pushing as hard as he could to get them out onto the open road again, blood trailing behind them.

  Once they’d cleared the canyon, Bobby pushed Michael into the space between two cars that had come to rest nose to nose. He kicked away the detritus of the people who’d camped there and then helped Michael shed his jacket, kneeling to examine his arm.

  “How does it feel?”

  Michael grimaced as Bobby felt around the wound. “It stings.”

  “I don’t think the bullet hit the bone,” Bobby said. “But you’ve lost a lot of blood.”

  He found a bandage in his pack and gave it to Michael to hold as he ripped the arm off the man’s shirt. “Jeez,” he said under his breath as he examined the mess of congealed blood and, in the center, a rivulet of bright scarlet.

  He poured half a bottle of water over it, wiping it down with a rag he found on the ground before rinsing it again and quickly spraying disinfectant before wrapping the arm tight in the bandage.

  “Give me your belt,” he said, and, taking it from Michael, he wrapped it around the top of his arm and tied a knot in the leather. “Sorry, it’s got to be tight.”

  When he’d finished, he stood up and stretched his back, looking along the road in both directions. People moved in the distance, heading away from them. “We’ve got to get to Castaic. It’s the nearest place where we might find help.”

  “How far is it?”

  “It doesn’t matter, we’ve got to do it. Let’s get going.”

  The next hours were torture as they wound their way left to right, Bobby cursing the flat tire that slowed them down. He’d suffered an adrenaline rebound almost as soon as they’d set off, feeling drained of energy and trying not to think about the miles between here and the half-drowned city.

  “How were you able to get out of the chair?” he asked as he remembered the fight.

  “I don’t know. I guess God knew you needed help and gave me the strength.”

  Bobby grunted. “I’d have been happier with a lightning bolt or two.”

  “Don’t mock the Lord, Bob. Please.”

  “I don’t see what you’ve got to be grateful to Him for,” Bobby said, his mouth reaching the end of the sentence a few words ahead of his brain. “Sorry.”

  Michael shook his head. “He sent you, didn’t He?”

  Bobby didn’t have the energy to argue further. “Maybe He did. Let’s hope we both get rewarded for our faith.”

  “Do you think that thug meant it, about Maria?”

  Bobby shook his head. He’d been turning Hamish’s taunts over in his mind ever since they’d rolled the bodies into the gap between two cars. He bitterly regretted that his upward knife thrust had been so effective. Sure, it had probably saved his life, but it had also robbed him of the chance to question the scumbag.

  “I don’t know. I can’t help thinking he’d have said more, if he knew she was…she was dead. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

  Michael looked over his shoulder as Bobby pushed them onward. “Yeah, he was a gloater. If he’d have known more, I think he’d have said it. And yeah, maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but perhaps that’s all we’ve got to go on.”

  Bobby knew Castaic was just up ahead, but so much had changed that he barely recognized the approach. Where before, the highway had become a causeway above the water covered with abandoned vehicles, it was now clear and, where the sea brought
it to an end, forcing them toward the retail park and flooded roller coaster, he spotted a checkpoint manned by figures in camouflage.

  Bobby waited impatiently in the queue, glancing down at Michael’s arm, looking for any signs of his white flesh turning blue. Michael had said little for the past couple of miles, but it was obvious he was feeling drowsy as more blood leaked through the soaked bandage.

  “You’d better take him through to triage,” the young soldier said as soon as she caught sight of his blood-soaked arm. She handed him a round plastic coin and nodded to the left.

  Bobby muttered an exhausted thanks and pushed Michael toward where a guard stood outside the entrance to a Chipotle. A crowd control barrier blocked the door, so Bobby held out the coin, which turned out to be a fairground token.

  “Triage is inside,” the soldier said.

  Bobby moved inside, then groaned as he caught sight of the queue snaking along one wall, but there was nothing else for it other than to get in line. They stood behind a gray-haired woman with her arm around a youth of, Bobby guessed, fourteen or so. Ahead of them stood a shivering man who swayed from side to side, and at his feet squatted a small figure with a blanket around the shoulders.

  Bobby checked on Michael, who was leaning against the seat back, his head lolling as he drifted in and out of consciousness. The walking wounded occupied one side of the restaurant’s seating as people in blue coveralls examined them. Farther away, near the windows, the seating had somehow been converted to beds where people lay looking up at the ceiling.

  “Open.”

  Bobby woke up as a blue-gowned woman held something up. “Sorry?”

  “Open your mouth, I need to take your temperature.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not the patient,” he said, pointing down at Michael.

  “I know. But we take everyone’s temperature. There’s a sickness going around.”

  “I know. I’ve had it.” He opened his mouth and waited until the digital thermometer beeped.