With nothing but silence hanging in the air, Colt heard Dylan sigh. “What is it?” Colt said.
“Argh, nothing.”
“That sigh didn’t sound like nothing. What’s on your mind, son?”
“Mom.”
“Mom?”
“Yeah, Mom.”
Colt gulped. The one word caused immediate reaction of emotion. “What about her?”
“What do you think these things are? What do you think Mom was? I mean, she seemed so . . . so normal the second she got home from the airport, then suddenly she attacked us.”
Colt didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t lie to him. Dylan would see through a lie. But Colt was a fixer by nature, he hated seeing his family struggle, especially in their current reality. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Dylan sounded harsh.
Colt eyeballed his son. A sour, questioning look hung there.
“What do you want me to say?” Colt said.
“Something. Anything.” Then Dylan whipped his head around and avoided eye contact.
But Colt didn’t have the words, or the knowledge. Maybe he never would. He wanted to give his son comfort, to tell him his mother was in a better place, but again, that was a lie. Instead, Colt glanced in the rearview and searched for Wesley. But he was missing. “Wesley?” A panic rushed over him as his heartrate rose.
Colt leaned over the bench seat to see his son curled up in the fetal position and still lying on the floor.
“Hey, buddy, it’s okay, you can sit up now.” Colt stared down at him, while peeking back at the road and making sure he remained within the lines.
But Wesley wouldn’t move. “Dylan.” Colt looked to him for help. “Dylan!” Colt said, this time with force behind his voice as he kept his head turned.
With disdain on his face, Dylan eyeballed his father.
“Would you mind, hopping over the seat and helping your brother?”
Dylan huffed, but followed his father’s instruction.
Once he was in the back seat, Colt saw him lean toward the floor. “It’s okay, Wes, you can come up here. Sit with me, I’ll protect you,” Dylan said.
It took a little more coaxing, but Wesley finally climbed onto the back seat next to his brother. “That’s it,” Dylan encouraged, then wrapped his arm around his little brother.
Colt watched both in the rearview and grinned. They were the picture of brotherly love.
But soon, that grin, that slim smile, vanished from Colt’s face at the sight of man’s legs.
He spun around to be certain he wasn’t imaging what he saw in the mirror. Just as he did the glass in the back of the cab shattered.
Screams echoed inside the cabin of the truck as the infected man reached in and ripped Wesley from his brother’s grasp.
Instinctively, Colt slammed on the brakes and spun the wheel to the right. Both the infected man and Wesley were ejected from the bed of the truck and sent flying through the air and onto the pavement before rolling into the grass and gravel of the side of the road. Colt didn’t see it, but Wesley landed atop the infected man’s chest. That impact of the infected man’s head hitting the road would’ve killed most anyone, but someone that’s already dead, well . . . it did very little to slow his obsession down.
Colt shouldered his door ajar and lifted his sidearm. The infected man rolled Wesley off his chest and hovered over him as Wesley lay underneath. But before the infected man could react, Colt fired. The first bullet hit him just under the ear. The man lurched forward with the momentum, but the shot didn’t kill him. Colt squeezed again, this time, aiming higher, catching him in the back of the head.
The infected man fell limp onto Wesley and Colt ran to his son. Wesley sobbed uncontrollably, and as Colt glanced down at him, his face was full of blood. Colt tore the heavy body off and lifted Wesley from the pavement, then ran back toward the truck to lay him inside.
When he arrived, he grabbed a rag from underneath the seat and wiped the blood away. Dylan sat in a daze. “Dylan,” Colt said, but there was no answer, only desolation. “Dylan!” He finally caught his son’s attention. “Take care of your brother. I’m going to make sure the threat is gone.”
Dylan scooted close to Wesley and held him, but didn’t say anything.
Colt strolled toward the dead man. He was lying still. When he approached, Colt saw the exit wound out of the top of his head. Coming closer, he recognized the man. He was the same man Colt had tried to run down in the street.
Bastard never let go! Colt glanced back at the truck, at the undercarriage. Fluid leaked from underneath. He couldn’t see what type of liquid, but when he turned his attention back on the dead man, his face was twisted up in concern. They’d never make it to Colorado Springs, not in that truck.
16
From the skies above Colorado Springs
The red of the protruding rocks of the Garden of the Gods stuck out like fire against the mountain as Masterson flew over.
“Let’s follow US 24,” Colonel Jenkins said. “At least until we arrive in Woodland Park. There should be some relief from these dense trees once we get there.”
“Copy that, sir.” Masterson banked left and followed the road northwest as it wound and climbed through the Rockies.
Colonel Jenkins leaned out the open door and stared at the ground. “Take her down a bit.”
“How low would you like to fly, sir?” Masterson asked.
“Just above the tree line. We need to see any movement.”
“Roger that, sir.”
Masterson lowered the helicopter, hovering only feet above the tree line. As they passed the city of Manitou Springs, Bald saw something on the opposite side of the chopper. “Sir!” Bald said.
“What is it, Bald?”
“Somethings there.”
“And . . . what is it?” Colonel Jenkins probed.
Before Bald could return with an answer, Masterson cut in. “Should I take her down, sir?”
“No, don’t!” Bald interjected. “It’s just a group of infected.”
“Next time give me something more concrete, Bald,” Colonel Jenkins said. “Don’t get me all excited for nothing. Especially at my age. You’re likely to induce a heart attack.”
They shared a laugh at the Colonel’s expense. As they continued their search, there was no sign of human life anywhere. Even after they entered Woodland Park.
“What now, sir?” Masterson said, soaring over city limits.
The colonel racked his brain. He closed his eyes and searched the internal map of Colorado in his mind. West. What’s further west? Divide. There’s an opening there. Should have good sightlines for miles. Should be able to see far off, at least until Lake George before the trees thicken up.
“Keep following 24.”
The pilot shoved the stick forward, and the momentum of the chopper carried them farther inland. But before they reached Divide, Bald called out again. “Sir. There!” He pointed out the chopper’s open door.
“What is it this time?” Drake mocked. “Another tease.”
“Movement,” Bald said. “I see movement.”
Colonel Jenkins rose from his seat, doing his best to look over Bald’s shoulder. Against all odds, he saw a car travelling north, directly toward their position in the sky. The vehicle was far off, maybe five miles away.
“Sir? Shall, I proceed toward the approaching vehicle?” Masterson asked.
“Affirmative. Let’s see if we can make this trip short lived.”
“Roger that, sir.” Masterson veered from his current heading and flew directly for the oncoming car.
With his head lowered, Colt returned to the truck to see both his sons huddled together. They were holding each other and sobbing in the back seat. He scooted close and caressed Wesley’s back. “You’re okay now, you’re safe.” He did his best to show empathy. But they were far from being safe.
Neither boy broke away from the other. They held tight as
Colt looked out the windshield. They couldn’t stay. Not in the middle of the road. They were sitting ducks. He consoled them for another minute before moving back to the driver’s seat.
The truck was still idling when Colt looked down at the dashboard and saw the unfamiliar sight of the red glowing across his gauges. The Check Engine Soon light shined like a spotlight. Colt brought his hand to his face as his mouth gaped and he wondered how much farther they would get.
Shaking the momentary thought of uncertainty from his psyche, Colt slammed the door shut and shifted into drive. He swung around the dead man in the middle of the road and continued toward Lake George.
Upon approach, Masterson guided the helicopter nearer to the ground. The approaching vehicle stopped a few hundred yards away, allowing the chopper to set down as the three-lane road stretched wide outside the city limits of Midland.
Before the chopper could even reach the ground, two grown men exited the vehicle and waved their hands to get the attention of the pilot.
“I thought you said we were looking for a family, sir,” Drake said.
Colonel Jenkins watched as the men exited their vehicle. He, too, recognized Drake’s concern.
“We are,” Colonel Jenkins said.
“Maybe the kids are in the back?” Bald was optimistic.
“Yeah, maybe.” Colonel Jenkins leaned on the edge of his seat, then leaped out.
The others followed as Colonel Jenkins approached the men. As he walked on, Bald and Drake kept their eyes on the rolling hills that rose from both sides of the roadway. A position, no military man wanted to be in. They were vulnerable to an outside attack.
“Oh, thank God, you’re here,” the driver from the vehicle said, but his words were drowned out by the churning rotors as they slowed to a stop.
“Name?!” Colonel Jenkins got to the point.
“What? I couldn’t hear you.” The driver rotated his head and put his hand to his ear.
“Your name. What is it?”
“Lionel. Lionel Redding.”
Colonel Jenkins looked to the other man. He remained silent. And as Colonel Jenkins watched him, something about him raised a red flag. The man was uneasy. Uncomfortable in his own skin.
Against his better judgement, Colonel Jenkins decided to ask him. “And you?
“Gunderson.”
Damnit. It wasn’t the family they were looking for. Without another word, Colonel Jenkins turned and began to walk away.
“Wait!” Redding said.
But Colonel Jenkins did not. Not until a gunshot reverberated off the surrounding hills and stopped him in his tracks. He whipped around and stepped forward. Both Bald and Drake aimed their rifles at the threat in front of them.
“You really think that was a good idea, son?” Colonel Jenkins stared at Gunderson. The man was still pointing his gun back at them.
“Look. Look. We don’t want any trouble.” Redding held his hands out, urging the airmen to stand down.
Colonel Jenkins shifted his attention onto him. “You should’ve thought about that before Gunderson starting shooting.”
“We just . . . just want a ride. To get to somewhere safe. We have family. Outside the state. They’re . . . we haven’t been able to reach them.”
“Everybody’s got family that’s unreachable, asshole,” Bald said, lifting his chin away from his rifle. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re in an apocalypse.”
“We don’t have enough room in the chopper for you,” Colonel Jenkins said.
“Looks like you got plenty of room in that thing for us,” Gunderson mocked.
“We don’t,” Colonel Jenkins was adamant. “Now, why don’t you put that gun down before you get hurt,” Colonel Jenkins instructed.
“Not happening,” Gunderson said.
Colonel Jenkins dropped his head and shook it. “Can you believe this guy?” Then he rose it and laughed. “The balls on him. You’ve got two rifles aimed on your chest, and you have one . . . what is that?” Colonel Jenkins strained to see the make and model. “A Sig nine-millimeter?”
“Forty actually.”
“Oh, a forty.” Again, Colonel Jenkins could do nothing but chuckle. “Look, we can’t give you a ride, but we can send someone back for you. We’re looking for a very specific family.”
“Which family? Maybe I know them,” Redding spoke up to offer any sort of help he could.
“Sorry, that’s classified,” Colonel Jenkins said.
“Now if you don’t mind, we need to get back to our mission.” Again, he turned around, but was forced back around when Gunderson spoke.
“Bullshit. You won’t send someone. You’ll leave us here to die. Give us a ride, or else.”
Colonel Jenkins stopped, but didn’t turn. “I’m not going to give you another chance. Lower your weapon, or we’ll be forced to put you down.”
“Do it then! ‘Cause I ain’t letting you leave here without us.”
Colonel Jenkins paused and thought for a moment. Idiot. Just lower your gun and live. If by the time he turned around his gun was lowered, he’d let him live, if not . . . well . . . at least he gave him a chance. He spun to face them again. It was the latter. He nodded to Bald to take the shot. “Bald.”
Bald didn’t hesitate. He pulled the trigger and dropped him.
Redding jumped in fright.
Colonel Jenkins walked toward Redding, feeling sorry for him. When he got close, he asked, “Do you have enough gas to get to Cheyenne Mountain? To NORAD?”
“I do. But I don’t know if I can get there until tomorrow. I’ve got another stop to make.”
“Get your shit in order and drive as fast as you can. If by some miracle you make it to the doors, tell them Colonel Jenkins sent you. They’ll let you in, and you’ll be safe there.”
“Thank you, Colonel, thank you.” Redding pulled on his hand as he shook it.
“It’s fine.” He turned and looked to his men. “Saddle up, boys.”
Each entered the chopper and awaited take off. Once inside, Masterson asked through the headset. “Sir, do you want to keep on this heading, or double back?”
“Head west.”
“Are you sure?” Masterson asked. “Shouldn’t we keep searching US 24?’
“We’ll return on 24.”
“Roger that, sir. You’re the boss.”
17
When Colt approached US 24, making the connection from County Road 90, he glanced left, then right. No cars were in sight. He breathed a sigh, hoping the lane of blocked traffic they had avoided near Spinney Mountain Reservoir hadn’t wound its trail this far.
Inside the yielding turn lane, Colt glanced over his shoulder out of instinct. There was nothing but valley and mountains as pines danced along the grass and aspen’s speckled the hillside.
They passed some abandoned cars on the shoulder, but none that hindered their path. Colt expected to see infected wandering, much like they did near the reservoirs, but none were there. On their right, they passed a small children’s playground. Instantly, Colt thought of his boys. He turned to see them still huddled together. But now, Dylan raised his head and kept his vision straight out the windshield while Wesley cowered in his lap.
Returning his attention to the road as they made their way through town, none of the buildings looked closed. None were locked up from this apocalypse. If he didn’t know what was going on, it would have looked like business as usual.
But then, Colt strained to see the road ahead. A cloud bank was closing in, some kind of weather system was moving over the mountains. They were low lying clouds, almost fog. Strange. Eerie even. But not entirely uncommon. Any Coloradan knows if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it’ll likely change.
The heavy air rolled over Colt’s truck as they made their way into it. Then a mist began to fall and covered the windshield with tiny droplets of water. He flicked on his wipers and reached down to turn on his headlights.
Visibility was at a minimum. He coul
d only see maybe twenty to thirty feet. With no way of knowing what would come next, Colt reduced his speed, well below the posted speed limit of 45. He did not want to be surprised by another oncoming vehicle, or the chance of more infected standing in the road.
“Dad, I’m hungry,” Dylan said from the back seat.
“Grab a snack from the supplies we grabbed from Walter’s.”
“I’m not hungry for a snack, I need a meal,” Dylan said.
Out of instinct Colt leaned forward, scanning the shoulder for a restaurant. But knew if one was even close, no one would be there to serve them.
“Sorry, bud, I don’t know if we’re going to get a meal again for a while.”
Dylan huffed and said, “That sucks.”
“Tell me about it, I’m hungry too.” Colt caught his eye in the mirror. “Just grab something out of the box.”
Colt heard Dylan ransacking through the small box and with every toss of his hand, he could hear Dylan’s disappointment. “Dad, there’s nothing here.”
Colt clenched his jaw, getting frustrated with his son. He knew there wasn’t much, but it wasn’t the time for his son to be picky. Watching Dylan, taking his eye off the road, he saw Dylan look up and point out the passenger side window.
“What about that?” Dylan said.
Colt followed Dylan’s gesture and witnessed a building off the right side of the road, marked with the word Food on the covering. He lifted his foot off the gas and slowed as they approached the entrance. Peering out the window, Colt scanned the area. But with his sight limited due to the fog, he knew he couldn’t risk driving off the road. “Can’t, bud, sorry.” Colt shifted his view from the store and back out the windshield.
“Argh, are you serious, why not?”
Uncivil War: Infected Page 8
